Call number CB G79g 1906
(North Carolina Collection, UNC-CH)

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Library of Congress Subject Headings,
19th edition, 1996

LC Subject Headings:

Green, Wharton J. (Wharton Jackson), 1831-1910.

North Carolina -- Biography.

Soldiers -- North Carolina -- Biography.

Confederate States of America. Army. North Carolina Infantry
Battalion, 2nd.

RECOLLECTIONS
AND
REFLECTIONS
AN AUTO OF HALF A CENTURY AND MORE

WHARTON J. GREEN

PRESSES OF
EDWARDS AND BROUGHTON PRINTING COMPANY

1906

DEDICATION.

To God's noblest
handiwork and true men's highest
conception of ideal perfection, a good, well-balanced woman,
true in all the relationships of home and domestic life, and as
little deficient in social intercourse with the outside world
beyond, pious without pretension, erudite without pedantry,
charitable without parade, soft of speech but duly assertive,
stickler for the social proprieties but void of prudery, ever
genial but never frivolous; - such is an imperfect pen-
portraiture of a few of the amiable and lovable traits of one
seen in my mind's eye and the one best known in actual life. It
is my blessed privilege to have undisputed ownership to such a
priceless treasure. Yes! to thee, Adeline, wife of my bosom
and solace of declining age, at this the terminal period of "the
fitful dream," I pledge renewed troth, and say, as Ferdinand
said to Prospero's daughter in the incipiency of new-born
love, -

* * * * for several virtues
Have I liked several women; never any
With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed,
And put it to the foil: But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.

PREFACE.

On this, the initial day of a new-born century, I begin a work
long held in contemplation, namely, the compilation of the
Memoirs of a somewhat eventful life of a commonplace sort,
covering the greater part of the century just ended;
historically speaking, the most eventful of all the centuries.
Probably, no epoch of like duration is more replete with
books of a reminiscent character.

To avoid the suspicion of presumption in venturing to launch
a new book of a similar sort upon an already over-booked era,
be it known from the start, that the self-imposed task is not
essayed for futurity, finance, or ephemeral fame. Hence,
neither maelstrom, nor iceberg, nor hidden shoal holds out
terrors for my puny venture. True, it is intended for posterity,
but posterity in a very restricted sense - my own and that of
kindred, and of a few tried friends, who have urged the
undertaking. If some of these may, perchance, find a kernel of
profit out of the mass of chaff attendant, my idle half-hours in
the postmeridian of life will not have been entirely misspent.

Apropos of books of a reminiscent character, it is a crude
opinion of mine that only two classes are entitled to write them,
namely, those who have made history themselves, or those
who have been brought in close contact and acquaintance with
the class who have. Of right to write by rule prescribed, I
make no claim, and abjure all pretension on basis number one.
On that of number two, I think I may, without incurring the
suspicion of vanity or arrogance, jot down some few of
many reminiscences connected with illustrious personages, for
it was my proud privilege to be brought in close touch with
many of them.

Conspicuous amongst these, in boyhood and maturer age,
was a quartet, or rather quintet, of world-recognized gentlemen
and historical heroes. I knew and honored and loved them, each
and all, and thank the Master that it was my blessed
prerogative to have been born of their tribe and racial line of
thought. By name, they are known as John C. Calhoun,
Andrew Jackson, Jefferson Davis, Albert Sidney Johnston, and
Wade Hampton. Others there were, fitting compeers of even
such as these; but, as I am essaying memoir only, - not
history, - they are not mentioned by nomenclature. The Muse
of History will, doubtless, align with the others Robert E. Lee,
Thomas J. Jackson, and Nathan B. Forrest, only the first-named
of whom was known to me personally, and but slightly;
the last so casually as not to justify the claim of acquaintance
on my part, and the second, not at all. Hence this reticence.
Booked they all are for highest niches in "Walhalla."

In discussing this batch of "preux-chevaliers," and others of
kindred soul but less resplendent lustre, as well as others still,
who can set up no claim to kinship with such immaculates as
these, it is proposed to do so fairly and dispassionately, but with
no mawkish observance of the classic adage - "De mortuis nil,
nisi bonum." If allusion is made to such as Nero, Caligula,
Commodus, or Domitian, in an earlier age; or to Alva, Jeffreys,
or the Guises, in more recent times, chance position of the
culprit will not restrain anathema, or rather, harsh criticism.
Silence is sometimes culpable. "The rank is but the guinea's
stamp; a spade's a spade, for all that." Some have deemed me
aforetime too plain of speech, in not calling that useful
implement by a more euphemistic synonym. To such, the reply
is that having used unvarnished old English up to the allotted
span of man, it is now too late to acquire a modulated and
more euphonic dialect in dealing with knaves, shams, and
pretenders.

If there is any merit in my desultory writings, having been a
scribbler off and on through life, it consists in thorough
conviction and pointedness of expression. Those who object to
that style might as well close the little volume. Rosewater and
diluted catnip is repugnant to taste, and unsuited to my genius.
The field is already overcrowded with that sort, men who shun
a positive, unequivocal expression of opinion on men, measures,
and policies, as they would a bolt from a catapult.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
Birth, Genealogy, and Earliest Childhood Days - Loss of Mother When
Four Years Old - Transference to Home of My Uncle Joseph P.
Wharton, near Lebanon, Tenn. - Early Terrors: Pedagogues,
Pinafores, and Apparitions . . . . . 1

CHAPTER II.
Proclivity for Field Sports - How I Came Into Possession of My Cousin
Bob's Hounds Later On - Measles and the Tender Passion: First
Attack of Each - Meeting with My Father, After a Ten Years
Separation . . . . . 21

CHAPTER III.
Visit to the Sage of the Hermitage: His Impressibility - Subsequent
Visit to the Same Spot with His Adopted Niece, Mrs. Mary
Donelson Wilcox . . . . . 24

CHAPTER IV.
Sketch of My Father, Thomas J. Greene, from the N. C. University
Magazine, 1892 - His Early Political Bias and Predilection - His
Subsequent Romantic History - Author of the Bill in the Texan
Congress, Making the Rio Grande the Boundary Line Between Texas
and Mexico, which Resulted in the War with Mexico and the
Acquisition of Texas and Boundless Territory Further West - Journey
from Nashville to Washington - Remarriage of My Father - Dr.
Branch T. Archer, Father of the Texan Revolution, a Remarkable
Man . . . . . 30

CHAPTER IX.
Resignation from the Academy - Sheridan and Schofield - At the
White Sulphur Springs - Duelling Pistols and the Duello - A
Trip to Kentucky and a Bit of Romance - At the University of
Virginia - Some Professors - Literary Society Experiences - The
Fateful Numeral One . . . . . 92

CHAPTER X.
Admitted to Practice Law Before the Supreme Court of the United
States - From Washington to Texas - Rattlesnakes, "Northers,"
and Hospitality - San Antonio - Desperadoes - Distinguished
Soldiers . . . . . 109

APPENDIX.
Letter from Jefferson Davis - Letters to the Boston Herald, Written at
Venice, Naples, Rome, and Thebes - The Second N. C. Battalion -
Address on General Robert Ransom - West Point Then
and West Point Now - A Paper on Jefferson Davis - Address Before the
J. E. B. Stuart Chapter, U. D. C. - Gettysburg - Memorial Address in
Honor of Mrs. Davis - Speech in the House of Representatives on the
Adulteration of Food and Drugs . . . . . 223

CHAPTER I.

BIRTH, GENEALOGY, AND EARLY CHILDHOOD.

While making no claim to merit on the line genealogic, still I
am not debarred, by excessive modesty, from saying that my
forbears are of good, honorable, and unblemished record,
running back more than a century in this country and
embracing six or eight generations of "traceable grandfathers,"
both on the paternal and maternal side of the house. Many of
them were of marked name, trait, and characteristic, and none
ever false to himself, his blood, or his manhood, as far as my
researches go. The fountain source of migration was, in every
instance, "English, pure and undefiled," for which Heaven be
praised. There was not a Tory in the stock in the Revolutionary
War, nor a traitor or renegade to the South in the "War
between the States"; very few of these last since then. All
branches flowed from Virginia and North Carolina into
Tennessee, where concentration set in, towards the close of
the eighteenth century. As a rule, they were ever planters and
tillers of the soil, although some few sided off into professional
and mechanical pursuits. Such is a simple and succinct
statement of family history. It is one of which no scion of any
house in this broad land could be ashamed. Let him, who can
match it, say "Laus Deo!" in all fervor.

My father, Thomas J. Green, of Warren County, North
Carolina, afterwards General Green of Texan Revolutionary
fame, married my mother, Sarah A. Wharton, of Nashville,
Tennessee, on January 8, 1830. She was the daughter of
Honorable Jesse Wharton, at one time United States Senator in
Congress. They moved to his plantation, near St. Mark's,
Florida, where I was born on February 28, 1831. By death I
sustained the irretrievable loss of this last dear parent on

March 11, 1835, being thus deprived of her ministering care at
the early age of four years. She had met with the same great
affliction when barely one year old. She was only twenty-three,
and her mother twenty-six, at the time of death. The thought
that oft recurred - would I not have been a better man had her
life been spared a few years longer? Not that I have any right
or cause to complain of the dear hands that received me. On
the contrary, never did motherless waif pass into gentler and
more considerate keeping. A few lines descriptive of this
peculiarly interesting couple (my uncle, Joe Wharton, and his
wife, Caroline) will not be out of place. They had married about
the time that my parents did, and had the incipiency of a young
family, which later on increased to large proportions. Two of
their sons, and a son-in-law, died fighting for liberty, and the
regret of both was that they could not duplicate their tender to
the Cause. They took me into their house as if I had been one
of their little fold, and for the nine or ten years succeeding
accorded precisely the same. May their souls rest in peace, and
their reward be commensurate to their unpretentious good
works. Fortunately, they were well to do. A thousand broad
acres of as inviting land as Middle Tennessee contains was
their abiding-place, with forty or fifty sleek, overfed, contented
negroes to cultivate them. The recollection of that home and
the blessed spirit pervading it is a veritable dream of Arcadia.

Every thing used on the place was raised or made on the
place, except sugar, coffee, powder and lead, and a few
woman's fixings. The men-folk dressed in homespun, and were
well content to get it. With no attempt at ostentation or display,
they were nevertheless the most bountiful livers for their
means, and in their simple way, that I have ever known.
Hospitality was a synonym for home, the latchstring being ever
on the outside of the door. In those blessed days, there were
but few things to cause pain or occasion

trouble. Primarily of these were, by alliteration,
pedagogues, pinafores, and apparitions. Especially was the
pedagogue my pet abomination, being almost ever of the
genus ignoramic, tyrannic, or pompostic, individually, or in
combination. Being a tyrant hater by nature as well as by
inheritance, one of my grandfathers having been of that
honorable Commission of Forty (afterwards known as
"Regicides") that cut off the head of one Charles Stuart, about
the last of that crown-wearing tribe of tyrants in England. God
be praised both the sceptre-bearing and rod-wielding specimens
of the vile tribe are fast becoming extinct. Tyranny has had its
day!

Dionysius, the historic tyrant, is dead; and so is his pedagogic
successor, Dionysius, the terror of schoolboys. I write feelingly
in behalf of the boy to be, having been a boy myself, under that
merciless regime. They all seemed to have a special hate
against me, and, to be candid, there was little love lost between
us, as certified by old smarts and long-dormant grudge for
having received them for nothing. Unfortunately, the other
fellow had 'whip hand,' and 'hinc lachrymae.' But there was
one day when the boys would get the upper hand of the
dominie, and that was "turning-out" day of blessed memory.
(See Judge Longstreet's description in "Georgia Scenes.")

My father left a young negro woman, Lucinda by name, to
wait on me in my juvenile years. She had been my nurse, and
was devoted to me, but, unfortunately, her head was full of
African 'folk-lore' and superstitions, in which the horrible
predominated, all of which naturally passed into my own
cranium. Being of a credulous and impressive temperament,
they made a most baleful and baneful impress on the
imagination until nine or ten years of age, especially when
having to sleep in a room by myself. Many a night in
mid-summer have I slept with head under blankets to shut out a

devil's 'high carnival' in dread apprehension. It is easy to look
back and smile at these fancies and conjurations of juvenile
years, but at the time it was no laughing matter, but veritable
purgatorial torture. I sincerely trust that few boys or girls have
ever suffered a tithe as much in those tender years. To make
the hallucination utterly inexplicable in my case, it was notorious
that I could "lick" any boy in school though my superior by long
odds in pounds, inches, and age. This, perhaps, was at times
needlessly done to convince myself that I was not a coward for
standing in such mortal terror of the devil and his imps, and
rawhides and bloody bones. More singular still, I didn't believe
in that absurd phantasmagoria any more then than to-day. This
is the honest experience of a lad who was, and admits he was,
afraid of ghosts and goblins, and yet did not believe in their
existence. What a strange anomaly the mind is any way.

Now for the third, and last, misery of my boyhood life at that
early stage, - 'pinafores.' At the time of beginning life in this
rustic paradise, there was left an elaborate supply of juvenile
toggery, appropriate to a picnic or a Sunday-school, but entirely
out of place in a day-school for country children. This I realized
very early, and importuned raiment befitting surroundings. My
aunt, however, being of a frugal mind, thought it expedient that
they should be worn before outgrown. As they invariably
exhibited a soiled and battered show-up after school was out,
she concluded to add checked aprons to the 'get-up,' as a sort
of armor-protector. An extra fight or two for days succeeding,
for the twit of being 'a gal,' led to the conclusion, on my part,
that this addendum in raiment was not suited to my 'style of
beauty.' And so they disappeared, to be substituted by a
'dressing' of another sort on reaching home. My aunt, though
later on a 'rebel,' so-called, herself, was not prone to tolerate
rebellion to established authority in her little domain. And
so the contest continued

between us, day after day, until the supply of the
obnoxious things was exhausted, or else the dear good
soul's patience and powers of endurance. It seems to me,
after these long years, that she tacitly called a truce. Certes,
there was no 'Appomattox' for me in that momentous struggle
for the 'Rights of Man.'

It was a miniature prelude to another struggle soon to follow
on a far more extended scale. I know that my aunt thought she
was right in this needless assertion of prerogative, for she
never did a thing in her blessed life that wouldn't stand that
primary test. Perhaps, too, Bill Seward and his puppets thought
the same in their sublime assertion of prerogative. And yet, is it
not barely possible that each might have been slightly out of
reckoning? I could not help thinking then, and still maintain,
that it is a desecration to try to turn a boy into a girl or a dude.
Not that girls are not an essential factor in the world's economy
and make-up; but still, no true boy wants to be one, much less
that nondescript other thing. Let it be said, that those are the
only whippings this my second mother ever gave me, with the
exception of an occasional one for a Sunday fishing escapade.
Uncle Joe never struck me a lick in his life, that comes to
recollection, probably thinking I got my full complement at
school. Be it said, that whilst pedagogic brutality was
sometimes met by puny and impotent resistance, I always
took my Aunt Caroline's corrections like a little man.

And so the period of first boyhood passed by, and the tenth
year beginning, say, the secondary period came on. By that
time I was a strong, robust, double-jointed specimen of juvenile
humanity. Am glad to say my constitution, by that time
grounded, was strengthened by the next four or five years of
active outdoor exercise, riding, hunting, fishing, etc. My health
has always been exceptionally good, up to the near

approach of the Biblical limit of the years of man's
pilgrimage. At least, it was so until this vile imported
foreign disease, called 'La Grippe,' put in an appearance
a year or so ago. That has not only impaired physical
stamina, but worse by far, changed a disposition naturally
gentle, forbearing, and amiable, into the morose and
melancholic order. Never thought it would please me. The
orthography is too Frenchy for the ear of an Englishman.

CHAPTER II.

The second stage of these puerilities naturally calls for a
new chapter.

My Uncle Joe was an inborn sportsman, one of the finest
shots, both with the rifle and shotgun, that I have ever known.
In due time these were permitted me to use, glorious privilege
that it was. He was the owner likewise of one of the finest
packs of hounds in Tennessee, and one of the highest delights
in life was to follow them in his company. Those dogs in after
years became my sole and exclusive property by deed of gift
from his son Bob, who was not averse to becoming the son-in-
law of one of the largest sheep raisers in the country, who
naturally had a repugnance to the whole canine family, both of
high and low degree. Alas! poor Bob, after sacrificing his pets
to propitiate the father, failed to win the consent of the
daughter, thus losing "Tray, Blanche, Sweetheart, and all."
Cousin Robert had my heartfelt sympathy, especially for the
loss of 'Sweetheart,' but when he asked for a cancellation of
the aforesaid deed, I couldn't see it. Poor Bob, it is too mean to
spring the story on you at this late day, but it was too good to
keep all to myself. Still, in this sad, sad tale may be seen
confirmation of the old saw - "Patient waiters are no losers."
Though Robert never fed his father's flocks on the Grampian
Hills, he, nevertheless, married one of the finest and finest-
looking women in all those parts, and can count a round
baker's dozen of boys and girls around him, whom he and his
good wife can call their own.

Up to that date I had escaped juvenile ailments, including the
tender passion and the measles. Exemption from the first was
probably due to native bashfulness and dread of 'strange
creatures.' Next to a lean, lanky, bonified ghost, nothing was so
terrible as a fat, laughing, romping, rosy-cheeked

girl. They seemed to know, by instinct, that they had
me 'hacked,' and it was their delight to play on my fears. And
yet, it was only a vague, ill-defined apprehension at the bottom.
The thought never occurred that they would bite me any more
than that demons would rend me, but they scared all the
same. The incipient sisterhood ought to know better than to
make sweet faces and frighten poor innocent lads.

But the measles! The whole school had it and could stay at
home, but it was not for me to take it.

When the tender passion did awake, each attack was of a
virulent type, the first love-spell especially. It came on in the
fourteenth or fifteenth year. By the way, the incertitude as to
precise dates of important events here shown is a fact that is
going to give trouble in the furtherance of this self-imposed task,
never having kept a connected diary as every boy and girl, and
man and woman, should. But to return to my first love.
"Inamorata" had the advantage by about a dozen years. It was a
case of unrequited affection. She treated me meanly. Of
course, such ill-mated ardor had to find utterance by the mouth
of the ink-bottle. Yes, let it be confessed, I wrote her, aye, in
burning words, telling of never having loved another, and of
unalterable devotion to her. Either through the direct agency of
that superannuated young female, or by surreptitious means, to
me unknown, that billet-doux passed into the hands of all others
most objectionable, those of my paternal ancestor. Perhaps, he
didn't make himself merry, and me miserable, by reference to
and quotation from that injudicious and ill-starred epistolary
effusion. These were usually of the merry twinkle of the eye
sort of order, but none the less galling. It cured me of love
letters for a long time to follow. Moral: "Boys, do not write
them; girls, do not answer them; and thus the evil will be
cured."

A mile from the house was the millpond, replete with fine
perch, and it afforded endless enjoyment, for I have ever been
a devotee of the rod - of the fishing-rod, be it understood.

And so the world sped on for nine or ten years after entering
this ideal home of boyhood. One day, on returning from the
creek, soiled, wet, barefoot, coatless, a stranger met me on
entering. He was one of the most superb specimens of manly
good looks that I had ever seen up to that time, or have ever
seen since, and most faultlessly attired. He looked the soldier in
every lineament, movement and gesture, and as one born to
command. He was my father, and embraced me warmly. Kiss
me, he did not, and never did, but taught me to despise that
mode of salutation between men as effeminate and savoring
too much of the Latin races, none of which stood high in his
estimation.

CHAPTER III.

The next day saw me in the hands of the village tailor.

After emerging, I hardly knew myself, or was recognizable to
others, such a complete transmogrification having been
wrought in the outer man. The day after, I made my entry
into the wide, wide world beyond.

After mutual lamentations between my aunt, the children
and myself, my uncle having walked off a piece, we started to
Nashville, thirty-three miles off, by hired conveyance. Eighteen
miles from Lebanon stands "The Hermitage," the home of one
of the grandest and most remarkable men of this country and
century, or those of any others. General Green had been a favored
young friend of the grand old man in his earlier years, and had
spent some time as his guest. His admiration for him was so
great that he bestowed the name of the old hero on me, his only
child. Note. This I continued to bear until the Nullification and
Force Proclamation induced us both to reflect that it would be
as well to substitute for the old gentleman's first name
(Andrew) my mother's maiden name Wharton, which has clung
to me ever since. That political blunder of his was the only act
that we deplored.

Of course, there was no passing such a spot without
stopping. On being told that the General was still in bed, my
father told the servant not to disturb him, but to give his card on
arousing. As we were starting back to the vehicle, the servant
rushed back exclaiming: "Master says don't go, but come right
in." Be it said that for this deviation from the rule against seeing
visitors, the great question of Texan Annexation was then just
in the bloom, President Polk having been installed in office only
a month before. His great predecessor was so deeply absorbed
in this momentous issue that,

although only six weeks from the grave, he had himself
helped up and arrayed in his morning gown, seated in easy
chair with pipe lit, and talked by the hour on this matter nearest
his heart with one fresh from the Lone-Star Republic, and
presumably posted on the drift of opinion in that quarter. Here
was illustration of the old saying - "The ruling passion strong
in death." One remark impressed me: - "Let me live to see that
consummated, and I can depart in peace." Other things he said
that still remain on memory's tablets.

After a while, as illustrating his proverbial politeness and
consideration for others, evidently thinking the conversation
was dull to a boy, he sent for one of his young kinsmen of
about my age (if not at fault his grandson and namesake), and
told him to take me in the garden and show me the flowers.
He showed more, namely Aunt Rachel's and Uncle Andrew's
graves, side by side, and covered by a little summer-house-like
structure. "But the General isn't dead," I put in. "All the
same," was the reply, "but he wanted to have it this way, and
you know he has always had his own way." To this I assented
with the after-thought of after-years - "except when Aunt
Rachel put in her mild veto, supplemented with tears." God
bless them both! for the "give-in," on such occasions, of that
iron, and otherwise inflexible, will.

On taking leave, he placed his hands upon my head, and
gave me his blessing. Later on in life, two others of the world's
celebrities did the same, barring the manipulation, thus wise.

As we were returning from a country-drive one afternoon in
Rome, we met the head of a pontifical cortege in carriages,
returning from some church festival or other religious duty.
Being in Rome, etc., I naturally conformed to the customs of
Rome, alighted, and stood uncovered until the carriage of Pio
Nono had passed. To our surprise, it stopped abreast, and

the venerable Pontifex Maximus, for whom I have ever since
felt the highest respect, had his driver stop, and, leaning out of
the window, bestowed the "benedicite" (if correct in Church
nomenclature), and moved on. Whether that good old man's
good wish has kept me immune from the ills of life, I am not
prepared to say, but appreciate the force of the great
Hildebrand's reproof to the stiff-necked and stiff-kneed young
Englishman, who refused to kneel at High-Mass in St. Peter's: -
"My son, the blessing of an old man will do thee no hurt."

The third instance apposite was at "Beauvoir," Mississippi, of
which more, perhaps, anon.

It would seem that I ought to have turned out to be a much
better specimen than I have, after so much benediction from
sources most highly appreciated, each world-mover, as he was.
If the blessing of three such good old men as these availeth not
to keep a poor wayward child out of the burning, then tell me
not of a conjoint one of the whole College of Cardinals, with
the eleven thousand virgins of Cologne thrown in for good
measure.

On leaving that historic home of the most pronounced, not
to say remarkable, character in American history, I could but
remark on the judicious judgment in selection and the good taste
in its development. Everything evinced the eye and touch of the
natural artist in all of its concomitants and surroundings. The
"Hermitage neighborhood" had long been a synonym for
refinement, high tone, and hospitality, up to the outbreak of the
war, as I can aver from frequent visits thereabouts later on in
early manhood. The fertility of the soil and adaptability to
agriculture were in keeping with those exalted traits of the
owners. In the heart of that lovely region it was that the hero of
the most wonderful battle, and one of the most unique and
phenomenal careers on record, built his house and reared
his beautiful and peaceful home in

the latter part of one of the stormiest and yet withal one of the
most uniformly successful lives, on a grand historic scale,
that any man can point to.

His previous homes, from the one-room cabin in Western
North Carolina, in which his grand old Irish mother had blessed
the world at large, but more especially her newly adopted
country, with a hero, a sage, a statesman, and, above all, a
MAN. His homes, I say, and surroundings, had not been of
the highest aesthetic type, but he was at home where-ever he
was, from the aforesaid cabin to the Presidential mansion. He
was a marked figure in every sphere and station of life. This
power of adaptability to change of conditions and
circumstances has been adduced by a great thinker as one of
the most infallible proofs of inborn gentility, if not of highest
order of genius. He was right, and here was an exemplar of
the combination. Of him it may be said, if of any, - "And thus
he bore, without reproach, the grand old name of gentleman";
the best definition of which rare character, as given by
Thackeray, is - "It is to be gentle and generous, brave and
wise, and having these qualifications, to exercise them in the
most graceful manner." This he exemplified always, as
Bayard might have done at times, Chesterfield never.

Of him was said by a newly arrived French ambassador: -
"This, Mr. Secretary of State, is the surprise of my life. I went
in with you expecting to find a boor in your Chief Magistrate,
and I tell you now, in all soberness, that I know not his
counterpart for refinement in the court of my own country."
High praise that from a Frenchman.

In that lovely section of country, he drew around him on
neighboring plantations many of his wife's kindred, having
none of his own. These, and other congenial homes in the
surrounding country, made it one of the most famous
residential quarters in the entire country. Such was the fitting

retreat of the old hero in the closing years of his most
remarkable career. Here it was rounded off some six or eight
weeks after the visit referred to, in peace and good will with
all mankind, as he declared to his beloved pastor, Dr. Edgar,
some time before the end came. No man ever had such hosts
of warm, devoted friends, and few, such virulent and
implacable foes. The first he owed to his undeviating sincerity,
utter fearlessness, and devotion to duty, both public and private.
The last were due, in great measure, to his self-assertiveness
whenever his conscience told him he was in the right. Assertive
he usually was when so convinced; needlessly aggressive, most
rarely. Most marked instance of this last was his quarrel with a
brother-giant, Mr. Calhoun, whose nature was cast in a kindred
mould.

He ever met the puppy impertinence of "unworthies,"
whether on his own social plane or not, with silent and
sovereign contempt, until it called for the cane, the cowhide, or
the pistol. It must be confessed, too, that in his earlier manhood
he fought cocks, raised and ran race-horses, and deported
himself generally like an untamed young war-horse of the
young country in which his lot was cast. But there was no
duplicity or sniveling or hypocrisy in his make-up. He wore his
badge upon his sleeve, and it bore the impress - "truth, courage,
honor, country, charity," and his escutcheon was never belied.
True, perhaps, at that stage he was not a model specimen of
approved orthodox "high society," a "400" sort of artificial thing;
but he was what that pack of popinjays could not evolve in a
million years - a MAN, - such as the poet called for -

"Give me a man that's all a man,
Who stands up straight and strong;
Who loves the plain and simple truth,
And scorns to do a wrong." There he was!

The last time I visited this tomb of a hero was just
three years ago, on the occasion of the Confederate Veterans'
Reunion in Nashville, in 1897, in company of my wife, youngest
daughter, and Mrs. Mary Donelson Wilcox of Washington,
daughter of President Jackson's Private Secretary, Andrew J.
Donelson, and the first child ever born in the White House. It
was a privilege to have this accomplished woman for a
cicerone midst the scenes of her girlhood days, replete with
incident and childhood memories of Uncle Andrew. It was one
of the mysterious charms that he possessed, that all children
loved him after their brief acquaintance. He seemed to crave
the company of the little ones, probably because he and Rachel
had none of their own, and he, not a known relation in the
world. The great man was lonesome.

CHAPTER IV.

Perhaps, it may be said by some that the preceding chapter
is a little too effusive in laudation of this extraordinary man. To
such be it said, that the estimate given is the mature conviction
of life-long reading and reflection in maturer years. In boyhood
days, he was far from being one of my ideal heroes, for that
period had been passed in the strongest Whig county, I believe,
in the United States, where party passion ran to the highest
pitch, and my juvenile mind had been unconsciously tinctured
with antipathies against our neighbor, just over the Wilson
border, closely akin to what had until lately been felt for the
devil. And yet, here was a philosophic Warwick, who made
Presidents and shaped policies, in his voluntary retiracy. Tell
me not, ye partisan bigots, that this man was not a giant among
giants. He stands on the historic scroll so inscribed, and all the
puny malignity of partisan and sectional hate cannot wipe it out.
In all reverence, be it said; God be praised, he was a North
Carolinian.

I come now to speak of another character of kindred type, if
not the same effulgent shine - my father.

General Thomas Jefferson Green; a sketch from the North
Carolina University Magazine, 1892, No. 5, by his son, W. J.
Green.

Despite the possible imputation that praise of a near kinsman
is only a sort of reflected self-laudation, I venture to give the
outline of the life-story of my nearest male progenitor,
premising that if space permitted a fuller recital, the lives of
few would furnish more varied and startling incident.

To briefly summarize. In the fifteen years of his active
public life he had been a representative in one or the other
branch of no less than four different State legislatures, a

brigadier-general in command during the Texan revolution, had
laid the foundation of three cities now in train of full-fledged
development, had by legislative enactment established the
boundary line between Texas and Mexico, which led to the
war between the United States and Mexico and the resulting
acquisition by us of New Mexico, Arizona, California and
Nevada; and was the first active advocate of a railroad to the
Pacific, giving as reason imperative public necessity, gauged
simply from a military standpoint, and without reference to the
great East Indian trade, which has been the making (omitting
unmaking) of every State claiming its monopoly. There is a
record, and a sustainable record, of which no man need be
ashamed.

Born amidst the throes of political revolution, of which
Jefferson and Hamilton were the incarnate embodiment of
antagonizing ideas, he received the name and espoused the
teachings of the first, and clung to them with unwavering
tenacity until his final dissolution amdist the mighty clash of
arms resulting some three-score years later on. He ever held
that his namesake was the wisest political thinker of all times,
and that Mr. Calhoun was his worthy disciple. No public act of
his did he ever deplore or deprecate, save his ungenerous
persecution of a kindred intellect and on the same line of
thought. Speaking of this last, self-poised and self-reliant,
shipwrecked by emotional clamor and the force of
circumstances, he has been heard to declare that "the
best-directed bullet that ever left the mouth of a pistol was
when Colonel Burr pulled trigger on the heights of Weehawken."

He once took that unfortunate gentleman as text to inculcate
a lesson to me. "Whilst Colonel Burr pushed his contempt of
invidious public opinion to a fatal extreme, I would nevertheless
have you, my son, imitate him to the extent of not attaching
undue weight to the fulsome praise of overzealous friends or
the covert dispraise of inimical mouthers.

He, whose life motto is 'mens sibi conscia recti,' will not
be unduly elated or depressed by either."

He was partly educated at Chapel Hill, and partly at the
United States Military Academy. Returning home, he was
elected to the General Assembly shortly after attaining
his majority. Shortly thereafter he married the daughter of
Hon. Jesse Wharton, of Nashville, Tennessee, who had
figured in both houses of Congress from that State. Thereupon
he removed to Florida, then a territory, and engaged in planting
until the death of his young wife five years later, having
represented his county in the Legislature during that time. He
thereupon repaired to Texas, which had lately declared her
independence of Mexico, and tendered his services to the young
republic, just then emerging into statehood. It is safe to assert
that no corresponding population of any age or country
ever possessed such a galaxy of adventurous, daring spirits,
and brilliant, brainy, cultured men. They poured in from all
sections and many countries, but notably from the Southern
States. A common impulse actuated all, namely, to throw off
the Mexican yoke and to erect a new republic identical
with that on the other side of the Sabine.

When it is taken into account that the incipient State covered
an area about seven times greater than North Carolina, and
was occupied by a meager population, barely exceeding that of
Wake County to-day, and that these had deliberately resolved
to measure blades and try conclusions with an adjacent nation
nearly two hundred to a unit in excess of numbers, the purpose
ranks either as the superlative of madness or the sublimity of
heroism. They dared to do it, and they did it.

Odds considered, it eclipses all the revolutions of antecedent
time. Of course minimum in numbers had to be compensated
by maximum in men, and so it was. There were no dwarfs or
cowards there, but "men, high-minded

men," and mostly of good old English stock. By any others the
attempt would have been the acme of lunacy. Consider but a
few of them, for small as their number was, it was too
extended for a muster-roll. There was Branch T. Archer, "the
old Roman," the father of the revolution; Albert Sidney
Johnston, by a later war catalogued with the recognized few
greatest captains of all time; John Wharton, "the keenest blade
that flashed on the field of San Jacinto," and William, his well-
mated brother; Mirabeau Lamar, statesman, soldier, poet,
philanthropist, with inherent intellect permeating every drop of
his blood. There was Felix Huston, of fame punctilious, and
grand old Ruske, and Henderson, Hamilton, Houston, Burleson,
Burnet, Hunt, Milam Travis, Crockett, Bee, Hays, McCulloch,
Moore, Fisher, Sherman, Wilson, Anson Jones, Lubock, Smith,
and a legion of others too numerous to mention - heroes, one
and all.

"Souls made of fire, and children of the sun," were they,
imbued with hatred of oppression and love of adventure.
General (and afterwards Governor and Senator) Foote places
the subject of this memoir in the forefront rank of those gallant
spirits for services rendered his adopted country. (Vide "Texas
and Texans.") We challenge any historic State, numbers
considered, to mate at juncture that matchless chivalry in all the
lofty attributes of true manhood. Let the slur of witlings be
admitted that some there were in that heterogenous population
"who had quit their country for their country's good." I, for one,
will maintain, if need be, before a college of cardinals, that self-
sacrifice that prompted the following of such as these
condoned much previous offending.

Charity is first in the eye of the Most High. Where can
higher illustration be found than in heroism which prompts self-
immolation for principle and for posterity? Who knows that
when the golden gates are being besieged by clamorous

claim for admittance, "Goliad" and "The Alamo" will not
constitute better passport to the sympathetic old janitor, who
upon a generous impulse could chop off an ear, than will
psalmody, unsupported by regard for the rights of others? I can
but believe that Peter will strain a point when Crockett and
Travis and Fannin knock.

Arriving in Texas in 1836, he was commissioned brigadier-
general and directed to return to "the States" and raise a
brigade. This he promptly did, absorbing his entire fortune in the
effort. Whilst so engaged in New Orleans a ludicrous incident is
reported to have occurred in one of the Episcopal churches of
that city. There was a striking likeness between his kinsman, the
Rev. Leonidas Polk, and himself. One Sunday some of his
recruits chanced to stray into a church where the later-on
fighting bishop was officiating. One of them, mistaking him for
his senior officer, who was not over-clerically inclined,
remarked, loud enough to be heard by most of the congregation:
"Well, boys, who'd a thought it? Uncle Jeff a-preaching, and in
his shirt-tail at that." It is needless to add that an unorthodox
smile spread over the worshippers.

In the meanwhile the decisive battle of San Jacinto had been
won against overwhelming odds, and the Mexican
Generalissimo was a puling prisoner. Fate so ordained that
General Green should arrive at Velasco on the identical day that
Santa Anna was released and placed on a war vessel to be
carried to Vera Cruz. General Green, believing this to be an
unauthorized exercise of power on the part of some one,
protested against its being carried out. Together with Generals
Hunt and Henderson, under authority of President Burnet, he
went on board and brought him ashore. This action was fully
sustained by the government, and the tyrant was consigned to
his custody for safe keeping. During the time, he was my
father's guest and bed-fellow. When their relations

were subsequently reversed, General Green was
made to feel acutely his long pent-up venom. The Mexican
assassin ordered him heavily ironed and made to work the
roads. This last he emphatically refused to do, though
threatened with death as the alternative. (See his Journal.)

For a while the young republic enjoyed comparative
immunity after her big neighbor had been taught on the San
Jacinto the sort of material she was made of. But later on
Mexico relying on numbers and resources, and her
President having partially recovered from his panic, incident to
the San Jacinto 'grip' and consequent confinement, began his
incursions again, and carried them on in a most merciless and
demoniac spirit, scarcely equalled in barbaric atrocity by any
civilized people since the devastation of the Palatinate.

Then it was, as if by common consent of the sturdy settlers; a
counter-invasion was resolved upon. A force of two or three
thousand was assembled, and all clamorous for retaliation. But,
through executive, sharp practice and chicane, President
Houston being opposed to the movement, the bulk of them was
induced to disband and return to their homes. Some seven
hundred, however, resolved to remain, and, under command of
General Somerville, an appointee of President Sam Houston,
crossed into Mexico. Their commander, however, imitating the
King of France, marched over, and then marched back again.
Then, under implied executive authority, he started homewards
with something like one-half of his command.

Three hundred and four gallant fellows, however, refused to
go, and determined to recross the Rio Grande and try
conclusions on the enemy's ground. The battle of Mier was the
consequence, in which two hundred and sixty-one (261)
Texans, after inflicting a loss of over three times their number
upon a force of two thousand three hundred and forty

(2,340) under General Ampudia, were cajoled into a surrender
by false claim and falser promise. It is well-established fact
that General Green, the second in command, protested most
loudly against such promise, and called for a hundred
volunteers to cut their way through the enemy's lines. These
not being forthcoming, he was surrendered with the rest, after
firing with effect the two last shots and breaking his arms.

They were then started on foot for the Castle of Perote for
safe keeping, that being the strongest fortress in Mexico;
Colonel Fisher, General Green, and Captain Henrie as
interpreter, being kept in advance as hostages for the good
behavior of the others. When considerably advanced in the
country, he found means to communicate with the command,
and enjoined upon them to make a break if opportunity occurred,
without regard to himself and the other two. This they did at
Salado, overpowering and disarming a guard of more than twice
their number, and started back for Texas. Subsequently they
were recaptured in the mountains, in a starving condition and
perishing of thirst. Then ensued one of the crowning infamies of
Mexico's President - the tyrant, Santa Anna. By his
bloodthirsty order, every tenth man of that little band of heroes
was, by lot, taken out and assassinated. Upon receipt of news of
it, a halt was called and the hostages told to dismount in order to
carry out his orders to shoot them.

All preliminaries to the command "Fire!" being arranged, the
captain, who was a devout son of the Established Church,
bethought himself of one oversight. "Gentlemen," he said,
through the interpreter, "would you not like priestly consolation
before we part company?" "Tell him no," was my father's
rejoinder; "that we belong to a race that knows but one Father
confessor, and He seems to be unknown in this God-forsaken
country."

Being then asked if he would like to make a dying speech,
the reply was: "Tell him yes, Dan, I have a dying speech to
make; that I had begun to think we were in charge of a
gentleman and a soldier, but now discover the mistake; that, like
most of his mongrel race, he is only a d--d cowardly assassin
and hireling butcher."

Poor Dan, who taught me Spanish a little later on, and who
was by act of the United States Congress a little later
recognized hero of "Encarnacion," was of incalculable service
to General Taylor on the eve of Buena Vista, by information
conveyed by him by means of one of the most reckless
escapes ever made after that surrender. The incident deserves
more than passing notice. Captain Henrie (Dan) was an
ex-midshipman in the United States navy, and laughed at danger
as he did at most other things. He was amongst the first to
volunteer in the Mexican war, giving as a reason that he intended
"to get even with the green-backed mulattoes over the Grande."
When Colonel Clay's command, on advanced service, was
surrounded and captured at Encarnacion, Dan was of the
number. General Ampudia, recognizing him, remarked: "And so,
Captain Henrie, we are to have the pleasure of your company
back to Perote!" "Excuse me General," was the saucy reply;
"when I travel I generally select my own company." The
Colonel, who was riding a high-mettled thoroughbred by
courtesy of the captor, rode up to Dan shortly after the march
was begun, and told him in undertone that it was all-important
that General Taylor should be advised that the enemy
were concentrating in overwhelming force in that quarter. "Get
me in your stirrups Colonel, and I'll take it to him, or die," was the
prompt reply. This was effected on the plea that he, the Colonel,
would like for one of his men to tone down his charger. Dan, of
course, was the man selected. As soon as he was in the saddle he
began to make the noble animal restive by a sly application

of the spur, and then suddenly driving them both in to the
rowels, he rode through and over half a dozen mustangs and
their riders, and, though a thousand "escopitas" were emptied at
him, he and his horse escaped without a scratch. Waving his
hat, he yelled back: "Adios, Ampudia; tell old Peg-Leg (Santa
Anna) we'll give him hell." In briefest time possible the news was
conveyed to "Old Zack." In recognition of the feat, Congress
voted the hero six thousand dollars ($6,000) and two thousand
(2,000) acres of land (if I am correct as to quantity), and Dan
lived upon it like a fighting cock for three whole months, and
a little later on died in the Charity Hospital, St. Louis, true to
the last to man's noblest instincts and to all of his host of friends,
except himself.

Captain Henrie, I say, used laughingly to remark that whilst
the General's "dying speech was rendered in my best and most
expressive Castilian," I took the liberty of adding on my own
hook: "Captain, them's not my sentiments; I know you to be
muy valiente." Dan further added that the effect produced by
the "dying speech" was electric, and just the reverse of that
anticipated. "Tell him," exclaimed the Mexican officer, "he is
not mistaken. If General Santa Anna requires paid butchers, he
will have to find a substitute for me. Mount, gentlemen, and let's
push on."

Close shaving, that! Finally, the whole party were locked
up in Perote's dungeon keep. Before they had well gotten their
new quarters warm, objecting to the cold comfort they
afforded, sixteen of the most resolute determined to vacate
them and re-immigrate to Texas. To do this they had to cut
through an eight-foot wall composed of a volcanic rock harder
than granite, and with most crude and indifferent utensils to
work with. It was a conception sufficient to have appalled even
Baron Trenck, whom all the State prisons of Prussia could not
restrain. It required weeks and months of unremitting work to
do it, but finally it was done; and on the night

of July 2, 1843, they crawled through the narrow aperture,
which six months of starvation made easier for them, let
themselves down by means of a small rope to the bottom of the
moat, some twenty or thirty feet below, scaled the opposite side
and a "chevaux de frise" beyond, and stood up free once more,
but carrying their lives in hand. Here they separated, by
preconcert, into parties of two; General Green and our old
friend, Captain Dan Henrie, going together and striking out for
Vera Cruz. Eight of them, after incalculable sufferings,
hardships and hairbreadth escapes, including the two last
named, got back to Texas. The other eight were recaptured.

All of the special details, incidents and anecdotes connected
with these splendid achievements were graphically told by
General Green in "The Texan Expedition Against Mier," an
octavo volume of some five hundred pages, published by the
Harpers in 1845, a work extensively sold, which many of your
older readers will doubtless recall, now out of print.

Shortly after his arrival at home, he was returned to the
Congress of Texas, where he was unremitting in his efforts to
effect the release of his unfortunate comrades whom he left in
Mexican dungeons. This was finally effected, some twelve
months later on, after some of their original number had paid
the extreme penalty that cowardly tyranny can extort from
freedom's champions when the opportunity offers. This
imperfect tribute to their valor and endurance is being penned
on the forty-ninth Christmas anniversary of that wonderful
fight.

During his legislative service he introduced the bill making
the Rio Grande the boundary line between the two
contending countries, which became a law, the "Neuces" being
the extreme limit that Mexico would either directly or indirectly
recognize. It was upon the basis of claim then set up that
President Polk, after annexation, ordered troops under General
Taylor to the mouth of the first-named river, which

resulted in the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca and the war
ensuing. That the acquisition of the vast and indispensable
territory by the treaty of peace was worth hundreds of times
more to the United States than the cost of the war amounted to,
is now generally conceded.

On the eve of annexation he returned to the United States,
and shortly after married the widow of John S. Ellery, of
Boston, a lady of rare worth and manifold attractions.

Four years later (1849) we find him journeying alone
through Mexico, from Vera Cruz to Acapulco, on his way to
California, which was just then looming into consequence by
reason of large gold discoveries. After working in the mines for
a while, he was elected to the first Senate of that State and
served out one term, being a prominent candidate for the
United States Senate in the ensuing year.

While in that State he projected and laid out the towns of
Oro and Vallejo, the last for a while the recognized capital, and
both now places of considerable repute. During his citizenship
in Texas he, in connection with Dr. Archer and the Whartons,
had purchased and laid out Velasco at the mouth of the Brazos,
now of recognized importance, owing to recent deepening of
water on the bars.

During his sojourn in California he was made major-general
of her militia and sent with an adequate force to suppress
Indian disturbances in the interior, which was done.
But a greater work was the defeat of what was known as the
"Divorce Bill" in that first Legislature, which authorized
absolute separation upon mutual request of man and wife.
Unless mistaken, this infamous measure, making marriage a
practical nullity, had passed the House and was about to be
brought up in the Senate, with every indication of an almost
unanimous vote, if taken on that day. At the time, there being
few women in the State, the far-reaching and pernicious
effects were not duly weighed and considered. Senators

Green and McDougall (afterwards Governor and United States
Senator) were amongst the very few in opposition to the
measure; but they were earnest, and, after exhausting all the
devices of parliamentary strategy possible, succeeded in
postponing a vote, thereby defeating the measure.

During the same session he introduced and had passed a bill
for the establishment of a State University, which has grown to
be one of the most flourishing and best endowed schools on the
continent. That world-renowned scholar, Professor Daniel C.
Gilman, was called from its presidency to fill the same position
in the Johns Hopkins University, which he has done in a way to
elicit the admiration and astonishment of the scholastic world.

The reader will, I trust, pardon a personal reminiscence in
this connection of the narrative. Shortly after Mr. Polk's
inauguration as President, General Green returned to the United
States, and taking me, then a small boy, with him, repaired to
the Hermitage and passed the greater part of the day with his
old and honored friend, ex-President Jackson. It was a visit ever
to be remembered. Although but six short weeks intervened
between that day and the one that saw him borne to the corner
of his garden for interment, his old-time vigor of expression and
enthusiasm seemed in nowise abated. The old hero had
himself lifted out of bed, and whilst sitting upright in an easy
chair, entered warmly into conversation with his visitor
upon the current topics of the day, upon men and upon
horses. Upon the question of Texan annexation he said: "Let me
live to see it, and I can truly say 'Let Thy servant depart in
peace.'" As we were leaving, he arose with an effort, and
placing his hand upon my head gave me his blessing.

Some four and forty years thereafter, almost to the day
antedating dissolution, it was my singular good fortune to
have been present at the death-bed, as it were, of another

patriot hero, sage, and statesman. Some six weeks before his
death, and by his invitation, I passed three or four days with
ex-President Davis in his quiet and lovely retreat of "Beauvoir."
It was indeed a personal privilege to have seen and heard those
two immortal men at the same stage of their sunset. In grand
heroic qualities they were of kindred type, and cast in kindred
mould. Self-reliant conviction, and devotion to conviction
pedestaled on high principles, was the ruling trait of each. It
was the ruling trait of Cæsar, and, in lesser degree, of
Cromwell, of Frederic, and of Napoleon. Coupled with high
genius, and the hero is the inevitable outcome.

In those two old men I see, and methinks posterity will see,
the two most pronounced and Titanic figures of this country
during the century. But a truce to digression, and return to
our subject. That he was the friend of such, and of Calhoun and
Albert Sidney Johnston, is a no mean letter of credit of itself.

During the pending annexation negotiations he was tendered
by Mr. Polk's administration the post of confidential agent in
that matter, but declined on the ground that he was then a
citizen of the other contracting power. Later on, he was
indirectly offered by President Pierce another important
diplomatic appointment, but again requested that his name might
not be sent to the Senate.

In his declining years he returned to his native county and
settled on a plantation on Shocco Creek, known as
"Esmeralda," and passed his remaining days in the cultivation of
corn and tobacco, old friendships and old-fashioned
hospitality. He had long foreseen and foretold as inevitable the
great political crisis which resulted in the clash of arms
between the sections in 1861. Whilst devoutly attached to "the
Union of the Constitution," nevertheless, when he saw the
trend of events and could deduce therefrom but the one
alternative of sectional domination or sectional assertion, he did

not hesitate which to espouse. In fact, he may be said to have
been what few now are willing to confess themselves to have
been - an "original secessionist," a secessionist per se. He
reasoned that the solution of the dread question "by wager of
battle" was unavoidable, and each recurring census told him
that the longer it was deferred, the worse it would be for the
assertive and weaker side. The unceasing regret of his latter
days, and hastening cause of his death, was that when the
mighty crisis came he was debarred by chronic disease (the
gout) from taking part.

He died, as some have said, from a broken heart, sequent
upon a succession of disasters in 1863, including Gettysburg,
Vicksburg, Port Hudson, and operations incident to these last.

He died on the 12th of December, 1863, and was buried in
his garden whilst the writer was a prisoner of war on Johnson's
Island.

In manner he was suave, gentle and polite, although
strangers might have thought him a little brusque. In form and
feature, one of the finest specimens of physical manhood ever
seen. Simple and straightforward in his bearing and intercourse
with all, he loathed duplicity and hypocrisy in others. Especially
did he hold in unutterable abhorrence vulgar upstart pretension
and pretenders, whether of the purse-proud, official, or any
other variety, mattered naught. Had he made accumulation and
money-making the primary object of life, he had died wealthy,
for few ever had such opportunities.

This poor notice of a pronounced and historic character and
gallant gentleman cannot be more fittingly closed than by an
excerpt from an address of a gifted young friend, Mr. Tasker
Polk, of Warrenton, North Carolina:

"Among all her illustrious sons of the past, there is not one at
the shrine of whose memory Warren County looks with greater
love and reverence than at that of General Thomas J. Green.
He was generous to a fault, noble and grand, fiery

and impulsive; heard the Texan cry for freedom, left a home of
luxury, sought the field where blood like water flowed, and
unsheathed his sword in defense of a stranger land, nor
sheathed it till that land was freed. The cry of the oppressed
reached his ear, and was answered by his unselfish heart -
that heart which gave the first beat of life 'neath Warren's sky.

"Bravely and gallantly he fought. His blood stained the plains
and broad prairies of Texas, the cause for which he fought
triumphed, the "Lone Star State" was saved from Mexican
persecution, and his chivalric nature was satisfied. Years
passed, but the memory of old Warren still remained fresh in
his mind.

"He returned to spend the remainder of his illustrious life
among his people, and many yet there are who remember with
pleasure how 'Esmeralda's' door, whether touched by hand of
rich or poor, ever swung on the hinges of hospitality."

CHAPTER V.

To return from this digression. We reached Nashville two
hours later, and, after a week's delay, continued on north by
steamboat, stopping over in Louisville a few days. At that time
and place was being held a religious council, conference,
convocation, or whatever the appropriate designation may be,
which was pregnant with most momentous consequences a
little later on.

It was beyond my ken to grasp its import at the time. My
father did, and remarked to me, when the decision was
announced dividing the great Methodist Church into two bodies
on sectional lines:

"That, my son, is the entering wedge which is destined to
split this Union asunder and to deluge the country in blood.
Yankee bigotry, impudence, and numerical count with each
recurring census, have long held the hellish purpose in
contemplation, and only bides the odds that cowardice demands
to set about its execution. Whilst it will prove (whatever the
issue) the greatest calamity that ever befell a free people,
nevertheless, if they will have it, let it come, and the sooner for
us the better, owing to the aforesaid census-taker of
succeeding decades."

Was he a prophet?

The question at issue on that grave occasion, as it recurs
after a lapse of intervening years, involved the right of a bishop
of that persuasion holding slaves, whether hereditary bondsmen
or otherwise. The verdict rendered on that occasion by that
oracular body was reproof, reprimand, insult, not only to that
high dignitary, but to every subordinate canonical who might
aspire to that high pinnacle. Nay, more; the vile insult reached
out by implication and included every member of the laity who
was or might be possessor of

a "chattel in black," either by ancestral devise or by purchase
from New England "negro-traders," ab initio, or later on. Every
other church, except two, I believe, soon followed the
pernicious example set.

Thus, these in alliance with a cackling flock of fussy old
maids, some in petticoats and some in breeches, with a lot of
old Congressional emasculates thrown in for seasoning, was set
a-boiling this hell broth of brotherly hate, which required sulphur
and saltpetre, and most plethoric supplies of the combination, to
tone it down. Moral: Let the church or churches attend to
legitimate duties, and let extraneous ones severely alone; let the
class of nondescript sex just named forswear political meetings
as above their reach and comprehension; let them stay at home
and rock the cradle, not of home-production contents, which
nature, with wise forethought, has denied that unfortunate class,
but let them borrow of their more fortunate neighbors. The
advice is well meant, and if adopted will keep that whole tribe
out of political pow-wows and caterwaulings, and check their
insatiate and insane craving for notoriety. Let us give gratitude
that our section is not favorable to such noxious,
hermaphroditic, fungus growth.

In due time - that is, about four times what it now takes -
the Federal Capital was reached. Barring the public buildings,
which were even then creditable to a new country, despite
later-on comparisons, when they stand, as to-day, the finest in
the world, the city of Washington gave little promise of its
subsequent marvellous development. Muddy and unpaved
streets, dwellings and stores of common structure and two or
three stories in height, vacant lots almost reaching out to the
dignity of corn-fields, sloshy crossings between streets! A
sluggish, murky creek ran, or rather crept, through the town,
euphemistically or derisively called "The Tiber." Garbage heaps
and cesspools there were on all hands. Such was a most
uninviting village, as seen by me and the snob Dickens

much about the same time. It was about midway between this
day and the one on which President Washington and his
French protege, L'Enfant, first began work on the metropolis
that was to be, half a century intervening.

What a contrast between the straggling village and the city of
to-day! What a contrast between then and now! Except in
numbers, rivaling the proudest capitals in the world to-day in
grandeur and magnificence, and suggesting those of ancient
fame on the banks of the Tiber and Tigris. What it is destined
to be at the middle of the dawning century baffles the
imagination and "must give us pause." For the past last half its
growth and artistic development have kept pace with the
material progress of the country, which, until lately, was
bounded by oceans on every cardinal side save one, until in an
evil hour, lust for more land and imperial sway made oceans
far too contracted for our boundary lines. The "mad sons" of
Macedon and Corsica were actuated by the same boundless
outreach of desire. May not republics profit by the outlined
warnings of tyrants and would-be all-ruling and out-reaching
despots, wearers of purple and crowns though they be? Our
tribe are mighty good imitators on that line, as is now being
developed.

It has been said that only three men in recorded history have
essayed the task of building a big city by systematic plan and
method, who succeeded in the undertaking. These, I believe,
are Alexander, Constantine, and Peter of Russia, each of
whom left a monument behind adding to the immortality of its
builder, whose name it bore. Here stands catalogued a fourth!
Each was built by the pride of men, by subsidies and largess
out of the public coffers.

While I was in Washington I was introduced by my father to
President Polk and most of his cabinet, as well as to numerous
prominent gentlemen in both houses of Congress, amongst
them being Hon. Robert J. Walker, Secretary of the Treasury,

who, by common consent of most competent judges, is held to
be the ablest financier who has ever held that high position.
Ten years later he did me the honor to take me in his law office
as junior associate with himself and Mr. Louis Janin in the
capital city, having just been admitted to practice before the
Supreme Court of the United States.

From Washington the journey was continued to Ridgeway,
North Carolina, to make the acquaintance of my paternal
grandmother, then eighty years of age. This venerable lady
impressed one from the start as one born to command, and
such was the reputation that tradition gave her, after raising a
dozen full-grown boys and girls. Her right to command was
recognized of all, and most of all by the old campaigner who
had just returned after a ten-years runaway. I am persuaded
that in the even tenor of her way she instilled a wholesome
respect for petticoat government on all of her immediate
offspring, omitting not a progenitor of the masculine gender,
who enjoyed the singular felicity of being my grandfather. And
yet she was a very little woman.

Here I remained for the next few months, studying Spanish
under my father's old prison-mate, Captain Dan Henrie, and
indulging my fondness for miscellaneous reading, besides
getting acquainted with my paternal kindred, none of whom
were previously known. As a rule, they turned out to be, like
those on the maternal side of the house, a very creditable
connection. Then returned to Washington and passed the
winter at the old "United States Hotel," at the time one of the
best caravansaries in the city, but in the march of subsequent
progress now difficult to find. It stood on Pennsylvania avenue,
near Four-and-a-half street.

During that time I had for room-mate one of the most
remarkable men of his age, Dr. Branch T. Archer, to whom
allusion has already been made. He was the admitted first
instigator to revolt against Mexican tyranny in the newly

fledged commonwealth (Texas), and that in a town garrisoned
by a thousand Mexican soldiery. He had sent out circulars to
every American settler, within a radius of thirty miles, to be on
hand at appointed time with rifle and bowie knife. Some three
or four dozen of the sturdy fellows were there to meet him. In
burning words he told of the wrongs and outrages to which the
young colony had been subjected by irresponsible satraps and
their minions, and appealed to their Anglo-Saxon manhood to
rise on the spot and put an end to the crying shame of white
men longer submitting to the sway of mongrels and mulattoes.

His words went home, the little band rose to a man, and
killed, captured or expelled the entire garrison, and Texas
thence on was to all intents a free, sovereign and independent
State. Never was more daring experiment tried by a single man
for grander purpose. It might aptly be termed a single handed
hero lynching a Regiment, or rather, as results prove, an
Empire, and for the only cause that justifies lynching. Let
Horatius take a back seat. Fearless as he was by nature, he
could but realize the apparent foolhardiness of the venture, and
had a fine thoroughbred saddled and ready at hand in case his
appeal failed to strike fire. Strike it did, and won for him the
proud title which he ever wore, and wears, of "Father of the
Texan Revolution." Gentle and kind-hearted he was to a
degree; but proud, haughty, and punctilious to a fine point, in the
face of unwarranted and arrogant assumption. He was, on the
whole, a sort of living embodiment of Lever's inimitable
character, Count Considine, barring his superior culture and
refinement. He and my father had been for long like twin
brothers, living under the same roof, and the love he bore the
father was naturally continued to the son. His society was ever
more congenial to me than that of younger persons of more
suitable years. Although he could

have had the entree to any society at the capital, I was vain
enough to think that he preferred mine, as I did his.

In one of the evening chats over the fire, conversation
leading thereto, he remarked with much feeling:

"Jackson, never step on any man's toes; but be equally
careful, my boy, that no man steps on yours. It has been my
rule of conduct through life, and I have never regretted it."

The remark is given for a purpose. In earlier manhood he
had a close kinsman and bosom-friend, though differing in
politics. In an evil hour a deadly insult was passed, which only
blood could atone. With high attainments, keen sense of honor,
and blood the bluest of the blue, it was well understood that one
or the other had to die. Dr. Archer, as was well known, made
every possible effort to avert the inevitable, even apologizing on
"the field" and imploring his kinsman to pause and consider. The
first shot settled all difficulties, and some there were who felt
inclined to envy the man who had caught the bullet, for thence
on the other was rarely known to smile; and yet it is hard to
believe that the conscience of the survivor reproached him for
what was done. The remark given above is in support of that
conviction. The necessity of the act, doubtless, embittered his
subsequent life, "grand, gloomy, and peculiar" as it was.

Such was the man whom my father selected for my mentor
at a most impressionable period of young life, while he was in
New York superintending the publication of his book, "The
Mier Expedition." I honored him then, and honor him now, for
one of the bravest, straightest and brainiest gentlemen whom it
has been my good fortune to know. Perhaps he was not a
shining light, according to the modern acceptation of the term.
He could not have made his million or millions, for the simple
reason that he despised superfluous wealth and its possessors,
and was essentially a high type of God's noblest handiwork -
an honest man. It was

not in him to attain high political preferment, because he would
have scorned policy as too near akin to falsehood or
subterfuge. "He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, or
Jove for his power to thunder"; far be it from pot-house
politicians and self-constituted village Warwicks. His was a
plane far above the reach of such things as these.

Upon Dr. Archer's departure I was transferred to a
boarding-house nearly opposite (a Mrs. Porter, unless
mistaken), mainly taken up by members of Congress without
their families. One of these kept a sort of supervisory outlook
over me, at my father's request. He was then in the prime of
life, about thirty-seven years of age, and a widower - a new
member, and comparatively unknown. Before two decades had
rolled around, his name and fame were resounding around the
world. He was my friend then, as he was ever after. More of
him further on. Suffice it now that his name was Davis.

It should have been said that before quitting the United
States Hotel I had been brought to know one of the most
remarkable men - it is needless to add greatest, when his
name is called - of this or any preceding century. Mr. and
Mrs. Calhoun had rooms on the same floor, and only two or
three doors from ours. With loving womanly impulse, the good
lady took me in hand and would have me in her parlor every
evening or two, whilst her grand husband would be looking
over his papers. Notwithstanding the weighty matters with
which he was always burthened, he usually found time during
the course of my stay to address a few kindly remarks to me,
and yet he was, as I have since learned, the biggest man in the
world. Intercourse with others of high kindred nature has led
up to the conclusion that simplicity is ever one of the
predominant attributes of the loftiest natures. Reading and
reflection confirm the conclusion.

proud privilege to be brought into casual contact, and the
friendship of some of whom I have enjoyed, I place
unhesitatingly the last two, Calhoun and Davis, as easily first in
profundity of political thought and lucidity of expression and
inculcation. Their great preceptor, Jefferson, was, of course,
the equal of either, as he was the superior of all their
predecessors in these high attributes. Patriotism, purity of life,
and self-abnegation at the mandate of principle, were the other
crowning life jewels in the two I knew. Of course, the estimate
formed of these illustrious men is derived from
subsequent reading and reflection. Their teachings and
monitions have been the political vade mecum of my life.
Jackson and Calhoun constituted, beyond a doubt, as long as it
lasted, the strongest and most marked presidential combination
that the country has ever known, each conspicuous for strong,
unbending will-power and native intellect of the highest order,
the last but partially cultivated in the first, but carried to a pitch
of refinement and absolute governmental brain culture in the
other. It is not strange that it proved an incongruous and ill-assorted
team, in spite of the superlatives ascribed to each.
Paramount intellect and lofty patriotism were neutralized by
unyielding self-will in both, greatly to the cost of constitutional
government ever since. Calhoun was superseded and set aside
- tell it not in Gath, publish it not in Askelon - by Martin Van
Buren, as successor.

Such is my deliberate estimate of those last two great
moulders of political thought, John C. Calhoun and Jefferson
Davis (omitting Thomas Jefferson), whom over-cultured and
dogmatic New England would fain consign to the lumber-room
of political failures. Possibly, in the thousand years to follow,
that complacent section may be able by strenuous effort to
evolve one such. So far, she and her congeners have not
approximated in production either of the immortal triumvirate of
political thinkers and teachers. Nay, more: it is

doubtful whether Old England, in her palmiest period, the
closing half of the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth
century, can furnish such a historical parallel of transcendent
genius in the most exalted field of intellectual development.
This marvelous outcrop, of itself, should forever shame and
silence the scoffs and sneers of witlings and fools as to the
demoralizing effects of African slavery on the moral and
intellectual outcome of the ruling race - stereotyped absurdity
of assinine assumption and self-satisfied stupidity.

In Mr. Davis the world recognizes the efficient actor, as
well as the profound thinker - the grandest Revolutionist of all
time, according to the Honorable Mr. Roebuck in the House of
Commons.

It was no mean privilege to have had this grand man for
friend in my boyhood days, and to have that friendship continue
to the end of his life. As proof of this, he bequeathed me his
ink-stand as memento in the closing hours of his well-rounded life.
From its sable contents were transmitted to paper the
emanations of his glorious soul. It is a priceless heirloom to me,
as I trust it will be to my grandson and his. The best wish that
can go with it is that he and they, in succession, may take the
donor for model and exemplar, and make their lives conform as
near to his in aim and lofty aspiration as may be. Let it be a
stimulus ever to noble effort.

CHAPTER VI.

In the early part of 1846 I was entered at my first boarding
school, Georgetown College (now University). From the first it
was evident that the strict monastic rule and ritual of that
institution did not comport to my taste and the genius of a
peculiar constitution. And yet, at the expiration of six months, I
was very summarily transferred therefrom by paternal mandate
in apprehension that a longer continued stay might lead to
counter-bias, to the point, in fact, of becoming a novitiate in the
noble order of Loyola. Looking back, after the lapse of time,
methinks his apprehensions were entirely groundless.

Be that as it may, the "governor" (if the Lord will forgive me
the use, for the first and last time, of the low, vulgar, slang
expression of mannish young America as applied to the author
of their being) was scared, and issued unmistakable orders to
"pack up my traps and get out of that den of Jesuits." The order
was most acceptable, and was obeyed with alacrity. It is
written, the school was not to my liking. In justice to the school,
and in perfect candor, it must be confessed that after sampling
some half a dozen others, it was not my good fortune to acquire
a hankering for any.

Possibly my rough initiation in the rudimentary branches of
education, to which allusion was made in passing, is mainly
responsible for deep-seated antipathy to pedants, pundits, and
high scholastics later on. Of course, such a confession is
discreditable, but it is honest truth, and that passes, without
question, as better far than a gilded lie. In extenuation, will add
that, whilst an enforced curriculum of cut-and-dried textbooks
went ever against the grain, I have, nevertheless, been through
life an unremitting student and investigator, based on solid, not
superficial, research, history and its concomitants -

biography, travel, essays, memoirs, approved poetry,
and an occasional dip, by way of interlude and recreation, into
the great romancers of the stature of Thackeray (greatest of
them all), Scott, Fielding, Boccacio, Cervantes, Bulwer,
Dickens, Lever, George Eliot, Hawthorne, Poe, Lesage,
Cooper, and a few others of kindred calibre, not forgetting dear
old Miss Porter of blessed juvenile days. Of course, the list
would be incomplete if it did not embrace the old, now almost
unread English classics. Some of these must needs come in.
What? Leave out "The Vicar" and "Rasselas"? Why, I would
as soon leave out Colonel Esmond, Colonel Newcome, Captain
Shandy, the old convict in Les Miserables, or Captain Crusoe.
Have rarely taken much stock in the so-called "current literature
of the day," unless kidnapped into something of the sort by my
good wife, who is not only the best woman in the world in all other
respects, but one of the most omnivorous readers and judicious critics
whom I have ever known. "Just let me read you a page," she begins,
and that always means the book. Have gotten much mighty
good reading that way.

There was drilled into my noddle at school, or rather
schools, the usual amount of stereotyped pedagogic pabulum,
including the preliminary classics and higher mathematics,
belles-lettres, ethics, political economy, French, and the law
courses, etc. Upon such an incongruous foundation it was mine
to build the superstructure of an imperfect education, after
closing the academic doors behind. That there were glorious
opportunities neglected shall not be denied, but that there were
shoals that were shunned can be truly claimed.

After being given the whole scope of schools from which to
make choice, and tried many, too many, it can be truthfully said
that whilst rarely classed amongst the "first mite men" in any
study, having by instinct a no exalted estimate of college
honors, I, nevertheless, escaped with but slight attaint or

suspicion of college contamination, and ever of low or
unworthy association. This last I have tried to keep up
through life.

Neither dicer nor drinker did I learn to be in that ordeal
period of life, although inducements were not wanting. For the
last I have ever felt the keenest pity. For the other class
(yclept, the gambler) loathing and scorn, far surpassing that
entertained for the "gentleman-highwayman." Nor is such
contempt confined to the "professional," the sleight-of-hand man
who is up to little tricks, like slipping a card up the sleeve, or
loaded cubes accessible. The thimble-rigging fraternity is but
the parent stock of a kindred class a thousand times more
baneful and pernicious, the light-fingered brother who can on
the Stock Exchange despoil thousands to swell his plethoric
horde of millions. Yes! give us bold Turpin every time to the
wheedling rogue, who mercilessly despoils widows, orphans and
confiding friends by superior sharp practice. This class may
have its utility in the public weal, just as the small-fry
jeremy-diddler, the centipede, the vampire, and the bed-bug may
have in the animal economy, but there are some folks who cannot
exactly see it.

Recurring to foregone estimate of college honors, the
subsequent may as well be here premised. From candid
statement here given, and further to follow, it can hardly be
inferred that I have ever set undue value on such puerilities,
or kindred trivialities later on, all of which, at the turning-point
of "life's fitful dream," have been, and are still, held in due
subordination. Reason for contempt of academic laurels has
already been forecast in part, viz., instinctive repugnance to
pedagogic tyranny and assinine assumption on the part of the
wielders of the ferule, both of high and low degree. Perhaps,
the feeling was intensified by comparison oft-times between the
winner of school-boy honors in the curriculum

Perchance such sentiments may be deemed heterodox and
ill-advised, especially by those of the professor-torial fraternity,
whose name is legion, beginning with the old-time dominie,
puffed up with a little brief authority, and the learned Doctor
Profundus LL.D., of the University of all the Ologies.
Professors all they are to-day, from the imp who shines your
boots to the other artist who lathers your face. The learned
Porson was nothing more!

I believed then, and know now, that in natural ability I was
the match, and more, of most of my school-mates, but realize,
in looking backwards and taking a retrospective glance over
the sad field of "might-have-beens," both then and since, that
many of them possessed an attribute far more essential in the
long race, known as stability, as contradistinguished from
ability. Bear it in mind ever, O son, both in the class-room
and in the far more important struggle to follow.

Father Æsop was right in one of the many instructive
stories he tells - the one about the foot-race between the
tortoise and the hare. Slow-plodding perseverance is almost
sure to tell against rabbit-foot, if not in a quarter race, in the
elongated life race, which is most unerring test of "bottom."
Stick to stability, and cultivate "bottom," my boy, if you would
win success in life's handicap or the globe-trotter's merry-go-
round. Or if you are of sporting proclivities, back the terrapin
every time for his staying qualities - slow, but sure. Close
observation has led unerringly to that conclusion, despite
celerity and scintillation of start on the part of competitors.

Although laying only moderate claim to "Molly Hare's"
facility of getting over ground, it will nevertheless be borne in mind
that a modest arrogance has been set up on claim of average
ability. And yet in the metaphorical scrub-race referred

to, candor compels the admission that I have seen the veriest
mud-turtles, creepers and crawlers, give me the go-by and
grasp the puny prizes most excitant to mundane effort and
emulation. And so, if you would carry off the "Grand Prix," my
boy, on which your heart is set, be it professional or political
fame, accumulation of useless horde, or sublime official head of
"My Lord High Executioner," or, descending from the sublime
to the ridiculous, "My Lord High Village Patronizer," who, like
inflated Malvolio's "I extend my hand to him thus" (every little
town has one such factotum), exulting in the serenity of his
sublimity. Young man, whichever of these Himalayan altitudes
you propose to climb, follow the recipe here enjoined, and you
will be apt to reach it, be it the pinnacle of President or
patronizer or moneyed potentate. First, make deliberate
selection of the cloud-capped summit you would scale, and then
fix an eye single on the topmost peak, and go for it with the
tortoise for exemplar. Crawl and creep, and on occasion cringe,
and you will get there.

CHAPTER VII.

In the latter part of the last-named year, or, to be
precise, on the twenty-fourth day of October, 1846, occurred
an event which has had the most material and important bearing
on all my subsequent life. On that day my father was married to
his second wife, Mrs. Adeline Ellery, of Boston. She was the
widow of John S. Ellery, of that city, who was one of the most
successful business men of his day. A woman of remarkably
fine personal appearance, and of the kindliest, gentlest nature
that I have almost ever known. For eight and thirty years
thereafter, she was my mother, not only in name, but in
maternal love and all else, barring the ties of nature. She was
ever indulgent to the follies and foibles of her self-willed step-son,
and ever ready with motherly judicious counsel. The only
compensation in my power was paid to the full, - in filial
affection to this noble woman.

Although much given to society, her charity was universal
and unbounded, but not always judicious. While of ample
means, her pension list was ever disproportionate to income,
and yet she was not a religionist in the ordinary acceptation of
the term. Such as it was, I would not exchange it for that of
the Sorbonne or an ordinary Consistory or College of
Cardinals.

She and my father were almost of the same age (forty-four),
and of remarkable congeniality of tastes. Most of the time was
passed in travel and at hotels. They were a remarkably fine-looking
couple, and always moved in highest circles, not of the
dollar-and-cent variety as standard.

The wedding took place in Grace Church, New York, Rev.
Dr. Taylor officiating. By inadvertence or oversight, the
stereotyped head-lines of the modern newspaperial chronicler
are omitted, to-wit, 'the large and fashionable audience ' 'the

grande marche from Hohenzollern and hautboys,' and ushers of
the blackrod, and all of the other et ceteras and concomitants
on such occasions essential. Any village newspaper nowadays
can supply such material and all-important omissions.

A gawky country lad of fifteen can hardly be thought to have
been "an fait" in dilettante literature of this high order over half a
century ago. All that comes back now is that the aforesaid lad
and a sweet, spoilt little blonde girl of seven walked just behind
the high contracting parties, as quasi "consentors and givers-away."
Ten or twelve years later on the performance was
repeated, but the performers were reversed, - the boy and girl
taking the leading roles. Each was an only child.

Between the two weddings I saw little of the family thus
augmented, except for brief space at long intervals. A child was
the result of the first marriage a year or so later, but died in
infancy; and so there was no additional connecting link between
the little girl and the boy until the second event came on, each
being much over-spoilt by respective step-parent, the girl
especially by hers. If she had been his own flesh and blood, he
could not have indulged her more. Every wish, whim and
caprice had to be gratified, regardless of consequences. The
result, as might have been foreseen, was a very deficient and
imperfect education, with a no hesitating assertion of self-will in
dealing with others. How she and I got along as well as we did
in after life can only be explained upon the principle of mutual
forbearance and concession, superinduced in each by the
recognized necessity of it.

I was fully conscious that she had been gratified and
indulged to the extreme limit, and felt the propriety of its
continuance in all rational regards, believing then, as I do now,
that she loved me with her full and entire heart. As illustration
of this, let it be mentioned to her eternal credit

that when the immediate forecast of coming events
pointed, unmistakably, to war between the States, she urged
her husband to obey the call of duty and his sense of honor in
espousing side, clearly giving him to understand that in her
belief he had resolved on the right course. She further
proclaimed her willingness to put up with plantation provision as
long as he could remain in camp.

But two or three years later on came the supremest test of
inborn truth and wifely devotion. On the eve of the mightiest of
all conflicts precaution was taken to retain two or three of the
very ablest lawyers in Boston to look after her interests and
guard against the possibilities of confiscation. In the latter part
of 1864, while a prisoner of war on Johnson's Island, I received
what might be construed into a conjoint letter from these three
distinguished and most worthy gentlemen, in effect as follows:
"Urge your wife to come on at once, if you wish to stave off
threatened, if not imminent, danger." Well I knew the portent of
that dread message, but followed the wiser course, as it turned
out, in responding - submitted it to my little wife.

Conscious I was that her rejoiner would be in accord with
my desire, as it proved. It was to all intents, slightly amplified,
that of the lovely and poetic Ruth - "His people shall be my
people," etc., and "we'll live on hog and hominy awhile longer
whilst patriot heroes are battling for their rights." The grandeur
of her resolve rises into the moral sublime, when it is stated that
it was taken entirely of her own volition and that the estate
involved was close to a half-million dollars and, as I learned
later, proceedings of confiscation had actually been begun,
which, through the instrumentality of my honored friends,
General Caleb Cushing, Judge Levi Woodbury, and Hon.
Benjamin Dean, were continued from term to term, and never
reached judgment until it was too late for it to be rendered.

An anecdote leading up to this result may, perchance, be
introduced further on. Let it be added, that all this while she
was like all of her neighbors practically destitute of the
commonest comforts, if not necessaries, of life, such as tea,
coffee, sugar, salt, calico, etc. Such was the outlook on the
plantation! Ease and affluence and boundless luxury across the
Potomac!

Without my knowledge she had previously disposed of her
wedding jewels in order to bridge over pressing necessities and
make both ends meet at home, whilst extending a helping hand to
her still more needy friends and neighbors. All this was done in
the seclusion of quiet country life, and without the slightest
attempt at parade or ostentation. It may well be questioned
whether in those dark days of long suffering by our brave, noble,
heroic women, any bore the inevitable hardships of the dread
ordeal more uncomplainingly than she; and yet she was, as it
then stood, of foreign and hostile lineage, inured to all the
comforts and luxuries of life, within her reach at any time to
resume. If marital veto had been interposed, ground would have
been broken for ninety-and-nine full-fledged divorce suits in the
regions of thoughtless marriage and loose morals. God bless her
innocent, simple soul! She never thought of availing herself of
such a glorious opportunity. In her plain and simple faith, vows
were vows to her, whether pledged to an unworthy husband or
to the God of John Wesley, in whose faith she lived and died.
She died June 15, 1883, having been the mother of four children,
three of whom still survive her.

CHAPTER VIII.

In the beginning of 1847, I was placed at the school of Mr. J.
M. Lovejoy, known as the North Carolina Military Academy,
located in Raleigh, to be put in a state of preparation for one of
the leading universities of this country or England. It was then
one of the most flourishing schools in the South. Mr. Lovejoy
was a ripe scholar, supported by competent assistants, a worthy
man in the main, and a rigid disciplinarian of the 'old school.' It
was an unseemly boast of his that he had never promised a boy
or a full-fledged man, of whom there were many under his
sway, a flagellation without inflicting it, and tradition of the boys
bore him out. There was one boy, however, to whom that
promise was unfulfilled; he very courteously told the promising
party that he had for long had a lurking suspicion that in his day
and generation he had been the recipient of an overplus of the
extract of birch, and did not propose to take another dose. Am
glad to say the good man held a restraining hand.

It may thus be surmised that too much congeniality of
temperament was not conducive to long protracted relationship.
Still there was a sort of mutual forbearance maintained for a
year and a half, when another transfer took place, this time, to a
select preparatory school four miles from Boston,
Massachusetts, kept by Mr. Stephen M. Weld, limited to thirty
students. He was a man of thrift and large wealth, and would
seem to have chosen the profession of pedagogics more as a
whim or pastime than from choice or necessity. He was a man
of refinement, judicious reading, and correct conclusions,
barring a pronounced drift to Federalism. For this political
indiscretion, however, there was the extenuation of his being a
native of Boston and an eleve of Harvard. Natural sequence, as
all good Bostonians go to Harvard

before they die, and, as a rule, emerge therefrom
thoroughly tinctured with Hamiltonianism, Blue Law
intolerance, Hartford Convention indoctrination, and other
kindred fallacies. Such political heresies may do for boys
before they die, but how after? It makes me tremble in
advanced age to think what a narrow escape was mine in
escaping this one college, before death, by a lucky
concatenation of circumstances, later on to follow.

Omitting the rationale of political beliefs, in which I was
vain enough to think, and to still think, myself magister, he was
the best instructor that ever had me in hand, and instilled more
from text books than all the others combined. This was not due
so much to his depth of research as to non-assumption and
faculty of explaining. A stupid ignoramous assumes that the boy
should comprehend by intuition all of the whys and wherefores
of the parroty lesson recited, because forsooth it is now plain to
his comprehension after days, and maybe weeks, of study and
secret investigation on his part to master; and so, perhaps, the
boy makes a perfect recitation of words as Poll the parrot does,
and comprehends about as much of the underlying meaning.

Intellectual teachers argue otherwise, and of that class was
Stephen M. Weld, who recognize the transcendent importance
of their calling and discharge it accordingly. License 'the
fool-killer' to ply his vocation on the rest of the fraternity, from the
horn-book consequential, who teaches readin', writin', spellin',
and 'rithmetic, to the learned Dr. Profundus of the Faculty.
Many of these know what they do know or profess to know,
but do not know how to impart it - logarithms without the key.

Mr. Weld had the faculty of instilling into others what he
knew himself, as proof of which, he had me thoroughly
prepared for the entering class at Harvard in a little over
a year, and it was a moot question between us, never decided,
whether

not to apply for entry into the class above, then known as the
sophomore. He inclined to think I was prepared for the higher.
The simple fact is stated more as tribute to a worthy man and
competent and conscientious instructor, than any claim to
readiness of inception on the part of the pupil. He understood
his calling and knew how to impart what he knew, and hence
was an efficient teacher. Would there were more of that sort in
the world!

His mode of instruction was no less oral than textual. At
table, where he usually occupied the place of honor, it was his
custom to start a discussion on some interesting or intricate
topic with a view to ascertain and develop the extent of and line
of thought of the boys around him, inviting free and
untrammeled interchange of sentiment and opinion. Being of an
argumentative and inquiring turn of mind, he and I were not
infrequently the disputants on opposing sides, for I was silly
enough to believe that he attached considerable weight to my
views and judgment. And so he and I ofttimes had a monopoly
of forensic disputation during the entire meal to our mutual
delectation, if not always to that of the two dozen other boys
sitting around. I am fain to believe that, for a wonder, I was his
favorite pupil. The novelty of the thing made me more
considerate in preconceived hostile bias. While undergoing
collegiate preparation, he and I would take after-breakfast
walks through the village to a little grove a mile out, where
taking seats in the shade he would produce a small Greek or
Latin Classic, and put me through a rigid reviewal to judge of
my competency.

While so engaged, news came that a much coveted cadet
appointment to West Point was within reach. Forthwith the
classics were discarded and all of our efforts turned to
mathematics, which had ever been my bete noire, or stumbling
block, from the multiplication-table to conic sections and
analytical geometry. An ugly outlook ahead that!

Entrance to the Military Academy had long been the
cherished wish of my young life's dream, but had been virtually
abandoned, for a double reason; the first being my father's
strong antipathy to the step, and the other, my having no fixed
home and habitation or State from which to set up right of
claim. And so all thought of it had been given up. Suddenly, the
hope revived again!

My father, in his various meanderings and State-building
migrations, had drifted out to California with the Forty-niners, on
the gold quest of the year so indicated. Shortly after arriving, he
was elected to the State Senate of the first Legislature of that
incipient State, and was prominently spoken of as likely to be
one of the first two United States Senators, withdrawing,
however, on the eve of the election in favor of his friend Dr.
William M. Gwin, who was elected with John C. Fremont as his
colleague.

Here was my opportunity. Father at last consented to
oft-repeated request, and the entire Congressional delegation
backed the application for my appointment. But here a new
obstacle arose. Up to the June examination of candidates for
admission California had not been admitted into the Union.
There was the chance of its being before the September ordeal.

By way of explanation, be it understood that there is usually
a small per centage of every class of candidates (usually about
ten) who, from unavoidable cause, having been prevented from
putting in an appearance in the June trial, are permitted to stand
test in September. These are, without disparagement, ever after
known as "Septs."

Inasmuch as my State was not a State in June, I was
necessarily relegated to the "Septs," three months later on, and
barely saved distance then. September was drawing on apace,
and yet my State was still not a State. At that crucial stage
came in illustration of the old saw, a 'friend at court',

freely rendered a friend at the head of the War Office.
General Winfield Scott was, ad interim, Secretary of War, and
he and my father fortunately at that time were in close social
relationship. The old General was then, on emergency, what
might be termed a modified 'strict Constructionist.' Whilst
too much of a stickler for the 'Articles of War,' even in
inconsequentials, to furnish shadow of excuse for breach of
their slightest infinitesimal in his subordinates, he did on
special occasion know how to 'whip the devil around the
stump.' He might be supposed to have said, in effect:

No. Inasmuch as young hopeful cannot claim a State as basic residential,
and there is but slight prospect of his having one before examination day
(September 1), he is, therefore, unavoidably debarred. But, hold, a thought
strikes me. As California will probably be admitted into the sisterhood of
States within a week or two, I will add a marginal line here.

And this is what he wrote:

If California is not admitted by the tenth of September, this appointment
to be null and void.

WINFIELD SCOTT, Acting Secretary of War.

I was admitted on the first of September, and California on
the ninth of the same month, A. D. 1850. A close shave that!

And so I was as admitted into fellowship to the most glorious
brotherhood of boys that the world has ever known - the class
of 1850. There were one hundred and six (106) in the start, but
from one cause or another the number grew small by degrees
and beautifully less, until a bare one-third came out with a
commission four years later on. Be the cause what it may, I
never knew a black sheep in that flock. High-toned, truthful,
and honorable they all were, as if by instinct. Intellectual it was,
beyond all predecessors, by well understood consensus of
opinion of old graybearded predecessors running back nearly
half a century. Heroic it was to a high degree, as the dozen
years succeeding abundantly proved. If necro-logic

returns of killed in conflict then impending is to be taken
as criterion, none could lay higher claim to that attribute. Major
John T. Greble the first officer killed in the war (at Bethel) on
the Federal side, was of the number. My friend he was, and a
gallant gentleman. How many others of them fell on that side I
am not fully advised. Many of them did, but I will mention only
one, and him with much sorrow after the lapse of time.

One of my especial intimates was B. F. Davis, of Mississippi.
When the issue was inevitable, he forgot to resign, and reached
rapid promotion on the side he espoused. Some there were who
said that the promise of it was more than he could withstand.
Far be it from me to impugn his motive now; will simply say that
his selection of side amazed me beyond expression at the time,
for on the very verge of young manhood he was one of the
proudest, haughtiest, most stand-off natures ever known, and
intensely Southern beyond measure. Poor fellow, I loved and
admired him for those independent traits that many deemed
repulsive.

As our brigade was going in at Brandy Station (the second),
General Lee rode up and gave a minute's instructions to our
Brigadier, General Daniel, than whom a more efficient never
lived, the purport of which I learned later on:

Do not unmask yourself unless exigency imperatively demands it.
This is only a feeler, on the part of their cavalry, to find out whether I
have broken camp at Fredricksburg. Stuart will drive them back.

Great man! he rightly divined, and so kept a crest of hills
between his infantry and the cavalry fight going on just beyond
in full hearing.

While that brief colloquy was going on, a young gentleman,
Lieutenant Pegram, approached where the head of the column
was halted with a dead man in front of his saddle. This proved
to be my old Colonel and Pegram's brother-in-law - only
three weeks before married to his sister - Colonel Sol

Williams, only two years out of the Academy. He was shot
directly through the forehead. He (Pegram) said we had just
before killed a General Davis by precisely a like shot. On my
asking where he was from, he replied, "Mississippi." I did not
shed a tear or feel a pang at the death of my old-time friend.
The only reflection was, what a pity that he died on the wrong
side.

There were only two others, nonentities they were, who
elected to take the same course, and to lend their swords and
services to the foemen of their kindred.

Twelve of them promptly responded to natural maternal call,
although with some the decision probably involved bread and
butter in case of failure. Nine of these gallant true-hearted
gentlemen died in battle, each wearing the badge of
Confederate General, from brigadier to the one just below the
topmost grade. Bear in mind, lords and ladies all, these were
but boys as it were, but, oh, such glorious boys! Was ever
nobler hecatomb of heroes immolated on the altar of Country?
I loved them one and all, and honor them now, henceforth, and
forever.

Their names are here inscribed for fear of oversight or
forgetfulness later on. There was Custis Lee, headman of the
class, worthy son of his immortal sire, although his recognition
to high merit was not based on class-standing or to lineage
running back for centuries through an unbroken line of
gentlemen and heroes.

There was J. E. B. Stuart, the more than Rupert of later
wars, the grandest of all cavalrymen of all time, always save
and excepting Forrest. His pet and loving soubriquet with us
was "Beauty," though whom they got to put it on nobody seems
to know. True, he was not an Antinous in form or feature, but
neither was he the reverse to justify the title by way of
derision. He was only a lovable man and an unfledged hero.

And so it is beyond my ken to tell why another of kindred
attributes, William D. Pender, of North Carolina, was dubbed
"Poll," but so he was. On the fields of glory, with which his
name became historic, he was wont to make his legions do the
talking for him.

Stephen D. Lee, the hero of Vicksburg, was another. Like
the other Lee, he still survives (long may they both!), and wears
the honor of being one of the three surviving ranking officers of
the superhuman Confederate Army.

Archibald Gracie, a half-Northerner by birth and more by
interest, but an entire Southerner by political conviction and
whole-soured devotion, was another. He returned from
Heidelberg just after graduation to enter the Military Academy,
and to die on the field of glory a little later on. He it was who,
when General Lee insisted on getting on the parapet of the
works about Petersburg to make a better observation and
refused to hearken to the prayers of his troops to come down,
also mounted, and put himself between him and hostile bullets.

John B. Villepigue, of South Carolina, was the highest type of
inborn soldier that I ever knew in those early days. In manly
form and physique unsurpassed, as he was not even in devotion
to duty by Lee the incomparable, or in austerity of Christian life
by 'Stonewall,' the soldier saint. No wonder that his military
merits were recognized by the academic authorities in each
successive cadet promotion, from first corporal to first
captain; perhaps, the most conscientious young man I have ever
known. Those who knew him best foretold for him a grade
only secondary to the highest, if his young life should be briefly
protracted in that mighty epoch. Alas! the siege of Port Hudson
made nugatory the prediction.

John Pegram, of Virginia, gifted and accomplished to a high
degree, was my honored kinsman. He was struck

down in the trenches around Petersburg only a few days
before the evacuation and the final collapse, and but a few
brief days too after his marriage to one of Baltimore's reigning
belles, the beautiful Hetty Cary. I have heard that the young
bride met the remains of her hero-husband as they were being
borne to the rear, and realized that she was a widow.

John T. Mercer of Georgia was of a most highly sensitive and
assertive nature, qualities which barred his well-deserved
promotion, for he was a soldier every inch. He fell at Plymouth,
in this State. On the eve of Gettysburg, on coming into camp a
little late at a place called Heidlersburg, I got a pressing request
from him to come over to his camp immediately on arrival, on
most urgent call. Surmising its purport, I at once rode over, and
found him in a very angry mood. He at once told the object of
his request, which, as inferred, was to be the bearer of a
peremptory challenge to a brother colonel in the same brigade,
(Dole's), and from the same State. He was one of the boy
colonels, being under twenty-one when commissioned, and a
most gallant and efficient one he was (Willis by name), who had
resigned his cadetship as soon as his State resumed her
delegated powers. I knew that there was bad blood between
them, and that neither would be loath to look down the mouth of
the other's pistol. "State your quarrel!" was my reply. "Is that
necessary between old friends?" he retorted. "With me, it most
certainly is," was the reply. He gave it, and it looked like a very
pretty quarrel, as Sir Lucius would have said, from his
standpoint. Not so, however, from mine.

It was obvious from his own statement that he had been a
trifle precipitate, not to add, and over-pronounced in the
interview on the march that day. And so he was told that I
would not take a hostile message to Colonel Willis, but would
gladly be the bearer of an apology. This decided declaration

was near transferring the quarrel from Willis to myself, for he
bluntly remarked that he called on me for a favor and not for a
Sunday-school lecture. To quiet him down, I simply remarked:

"Old friend, I might take umbrage at that remark, but will let
it pass, for let me tell you that this is no time for patriots to be
cutting each other's throats. I have just heard that the foe are
concentrating in our front, not twenty miles distant, and
to-morrow will be, in all probability, the turning point of the
Confederacy, for we are to march at sunrise to meet them."

"Thank Heaven for that," was his reply, "for if opportunity
occurs, I shall dare him to his face to keep in line with me in the
charge." Noble fellows they both were, and each died in the line
of duty shortly afterwards. God be praised! not face to face,
and by each other's hands.

James Deshler of Alabama, was another of that class. A
brother had preceded him in the corps, but was drowned in the
Hudson while swimming. James was earnest but
undemonstrative, and beloved by all for solidity, manly bearing,
and other sterling qualities. The same may be said of Peyton
Colquitt of Georgia, Horace Randall of Texas, and John O.
Long. The last four also died on the field, but in which particular
battles I am not prepared to say. Abner Smead of Georgia, I
think, survived the struggle, but I have lost sight of him since.
Samuel T. Shepperd and William M. Davant, of North Carolina
and South Carolina respectively, died before the inception of
hostilities. Had they lived until it came on, it is easy to predict
where they would have been found.

If some may deem the panegyric of these early manhood
friends slightly too ornate and diffuse for good taste, the
reply is that it is a genuine outgush, and not an overpartial
estimate. As proof, be it understood that my class-fellowship

terminated at the end of the year, and my remaining
two-years stay at the Institution was in the class next
succeeding, that of 1851, in which there were numbers of as
true and loyal spirits and gallant gentlemen as in any other. But
my intimates were mainly in the first.

It embraced a decided preponderance of Northern men,
many of whom made name and fame a little later on.
Prominent among these were the future generals, Gregg,
Weitzel, Comstock, Reno, Eliot, Webb, Ruggles, Averill,
Vinton, and Hazen. Clever fellows and worthy gentlemen they
were, to the best of my knowledge and belief in those early
days, who fought for 'what they believed to be right.' I am glad
to say that, so far as known, none had to pay the life penalty
for espousal of conviction. A fortunate contrast to the class
preceding.

Yes, they should be held extenuate for risking their lives for
what they believed to be right, inasmuch as the Constitution
with correct annotation by competent commentators was a
volume virtually of the expurgatorious order, neither to be
touched, tasted, handled, swallowed, or discussed, for fear of
dread contamination, subjecting the presumptions culprit to
social purgatorial penalty. And so the edict went forth to all the
nurseries, schools and colleges, in the regions where they were
born and bred; this thing must be eschewed except by
prescription of Dr. Story. No wonder that under the almost
exclusive indoctrination of this immaculate Constitution
interpreter and amender these honest, but misguided youths, like
hundreds of thousands besides, were ready to risk their lives on
what they believed to be right; and as little wonder, that the
others were prepared to lay down theirs for what, under better
incultation, they knew to be right. We were all good friends
then, although there were slumbering and latent feeling of
distrust and unrest, all realizing that ere long they would have to
be cutting each others' throats.

Be it remembered, that those days were in the midst of the
most exciting period of our political history. The Kansas and
Nebraska question, the Compromise or Omnibus Bill, the
Admission of California, etc. It looked as if grim-visaged war
was about to cry havoc, and let loose, eight or nine years before
the summons came. That it was bound to come was tacitly
conceded by all who had the glimmer of forecast or reflection.
Still, controversy on the subject was by inborn gentlemanly
instinct ignored. The thought with all seemed to be, the dread
inevitable is near at hand, but why dissever friendly relations
before it comes?

In speaking of these new friends and comrades, it would be
remiss not to mention a few of them specially. Francis R. T.
Nicholls of Louisiana was an inborn soldier and gentleman, one
of most winning ways, coupled with assurance that in the race
of life he was bound to win. And so he did, at terrible cost. In
one of his first fights he laid an amputated arm on the altar of
the cause. Not content with that, however, he went back at the
head of his brigade almost before the sanction of his surgeon
could be obtained. Then, after glorious service for a brief space,
he brought a leg as further contribution. There were some who
thought that if Johnny, as he was lovingly called, could only have
kept saddle, held rein, and wielded sabre, he would have
continued the contribution by instalments until he would, at last,
fetch his head to complete a dismembered man for Judgment
Day or the anatomical museum. But the rest of him was
reserved for nobler uses, for when the clash of arms was over,
and white men were recognized by the powers that then were,
to be as good as negroes, the Pelicans caught him up and made
a governor of him, and kept making him one as long as he would
permit it. And he wielded the staff of state in peace (so-called)
as efficiently as he would have done the baton of the field-marshal
in war.

John L. Black of South Carolina was my roommate during the
last year, and the only cross words that ever passed were at
reveille, when patience and ingenuity were solely taxed to
get him out of bed and down to roll-call. That boy was a
sleeper; a cross-tie was not a circumstance in comparison. I am
persuaded that he was in lineal descent from the champion of
the historic 'Seven.' Absences began piling up so fast that he got
scared, and in sheer desperation conferred on me plenary power
to disturb his seraphic matutinal slumbers to guard against the
dread two-hundred demerit mark. Perhaps I did not rejoice with
exceeding joy over the prerogative thus bestowed. Perhaps my
somniferous friend was not in line before the last roll of the
drum next morning with feathers ruffled, with bad thoughts in
his heart, and anathemic English on his tongue. Perhaps he did
not insist on a revoke before breakfast, and perhaps his plaintive
appeal was hearkened to. All of these hypotheses are in the
range of remote possibility, but out of all reach of the probable.
How could any innocent youth resign such a fund of fun freely
bestowed and confirmed by the, at that day, infrangible word of
a cadet? Moral: (Specially addressed to hard-hearted mothers
of boys who like their morning nap)., Hydropathy is the proper
treatment, but not in homeopathic formula. A douche, a douche
all over, ice-water preferred. Not one somnolent in ten thousand
can resist the call of 'get up!' when properly administered. Old
Black got up; he got up in a hurry. In fact, it may be added by
way of emphasis, he got up with alacrity amounting almost to
telephonic celerity. I would not dare to repeat what that man
said in his first outburst of temper, totally oblivious to the fact
that it was done for his own good. After he cooled off he was
more amenable to reason, sometimes called the sober
second-thought. The second morning, the sight of the
water-bucket sufficed to quicken his rising faculties. Third,
he was out of bed before

I was. And thus he escaped the danger of demerit dismissal
through the Circean charms of 'Nature's sweet restorer,' all
owing to my considerate solicitude. Henry Clay, Jr., grandson of
the Great Commoner, and inheritor of his genious, ran the
reveille racket a good deal nearer the danger line than my chum,
as he had no fidus Achates for roommate to hold the nightmare
of hydropathic treatment over his somniferous and devoted
head. Black still survives, after seeing the 'great war' through as
colonel of a regiment of horse. Glorious old boy, he and I tugged
together for three years on the treadmill on the Hudson, neither
exploiting himself in the academic curriculum. When I
announced my purpose to resign, he at once declared he would
too as he was about determined to give up school and marry a
pretty cousin of his to whom he was already betrothed.

One who has made a world-wide name since then, likewise
did so about the same time. James A. Whistler, or as he was
familiarly known at that time, 'Little Jimmy' (not 'Little Billie,' as
portrayed by Du Maurier in Trilby), occupied the room just
opposite, across the passage way, and when not immersed in a
novel in his own room could be found in ours, telling of the
wonders he had seen, and part of which he invariably was. His
father, Colonel Whistler, had with his friend, Tom Winans, long
been one of the two chief civil engineers of the Czar of Russia,
and under their conjoint efforts all of his great works of internal
improvement up to that time had been begun, profiled and
carried out, much to their pecuniary profit. His success with the
brush has been phenomenal, and he is now perhaps the most
talked-of living painter in the world.

Junius B. Wheeler of North Carolina was an old friend of
mine. He was a Mexican war man in his early teens, and saw
it out. Some ill-natured comment would have been spared him
had he resumed his war experience when his State

resumed her delegated powers. Poor fellow, it was a tempting
bait held out to him to remain - the most exalted professorship
in America, that of Military and Civil Engineering, the
successor of the great and lamented Dennis H. Mahan, and he
but half a dozen years out of the classroom. It was said that he
remained with the distinct understanding that he was not to be
ordered on active service.

In striking contrast was the course pursued by another old
friend of the same class, whom the year before his entry I had
left at Weld's school in Boston. James E. Hill was the son of an
army officer and was born, I believe, at some military post in
Maine. Naturally his associations and early bias would have
prompted him to remain in the 'Old Army.' But not so. He
remembered that his father was a Southerner; perhaps had
imbibed political indoctrination from that source, and so he cast
his lot, in choosing side in the mighty conflict, by blood instinct.
He and the brilliant Whiting were brothers-in-law and devoted
friends, as shown by persistent refusal of promotion in the
'New Army' in order to remain on his kinsman's staff with
subordinate rank. Greed of gain or professional distinction most
assuredly did not enter into this man's calculations in the
election he had to make between the 'Old Army' and the
'New.' Few could have decided either way with less danger of
provoking hostile criticism.

A brief allusion to a few of the most pronounced embryonic
heroes in the two upper classes, and we pass on.

George B. Anderson of North Carolina easily takes rank
amongst the highest of the 'preux chevaliers' of the first
graduating class. He received his death wound at Sharpsburg,
and died the high-toned, refined gentleman that he had ever
lived. Suave and gentle he was, in the extreme, to every
one, but there was the 'lion couchant' beneath that placid

Then there was John S. Bowen of Georgia, who died a hero
and a Major General Commanding at Champion Hills. On the
eve of his first commission, he and Philip H. Sheridan (later on
full General U. S. A.) were suspended and thrown back a year
on account of some pardonable boyish escapade. Courts-martial
are at times needlessly severe.

Lawrence A. Williams of Washington was deemed over
much a dude in the corps, being of remarkably fine appearance
and unapproachable attire, a kind of nondescript for which men
of sense, and women too, have but little use. We little dreamt in
our little day that a hero lurked beneath. The Confederate
General Commanding thought it most essential to get an insight
in the enemy's lines before striking a crushing blow. In a quiet
way he tried to find an emissary suitable for the undertaking,
for no ordinary one would do. Response to request was
irresponsive, for well they knew that capture meant the halter.
In the dead hour of night Colonel Williams whispered his
readiness to undertake the embassy, and to ask for verbal
instructions. Upon receipt of these, he and a young friend were
off in quest, in Federal disguise, and on fleetest mount. They
struck the Federal left, and for twenty miles they followed it,
wiring in and wiring out, Williams, who was an accomplished
draughtsman, all the time making notes. Things, were working
beautifully until, in an inauspicious moment, poor Lawrence was
recognized by an old acquaintance, and within twenty-four
hours thereafter he and his friend were hanging as convicted
spies. The evidence was undeniable, the proof complete, and so
by the inexorable laws of war he had to die, as did Captain
Nathan Hale of the Revolution, and that superb boy, Sam
Davis, who died in the same locality, Middle or West
Tennessee. No shame attached to either but, on the
contrary, imperishable

glory. Men who die as they did, and in such behalf, die the
death of martyrs and make the gallows more than respectable.

Slocum, Casey, Stanley, Hartsuff, M'Cook, and others of that
class, reflected glory upon it and upon themselves. They were
all on the other side. Jerome N. Bonaparte was a man of
striking appearance and physique, with more of the look of the
little Corsican that any other that bore his name. Some there
were, and are, who would have esteemed him all the more had
he repudiated that name, which his great uncle denied him, and
his ignoble grandfather for a petty crown permitted. He was
neutral in the war.

The second class contributed three marked historical
characters as its quota to the struggle. James B. McPherson of
Ohio was essentially a soldier and a gentleman, surpassing his
immediate chief in both attributes if impartial criticism is
respected; undoubtedly, in the last. He was killed as a corps
commander in Sherman's march to Atlanta, at Resaca, I
believe. The date ought to be indelibly fixed, for on the day that
obsequies were to take place at a small town near Sandusky,
Ohio, the rumor got out that a prison guard in that vicinity was
to be materially reduced in order to do honor to the occasion.
On a little island hard by, Johnson's by name, were two or three
thousand all-the-year-round boarders, who were pining for a
change of tavern. Here was the opportunity to throttle and bind
the tavern keepers, and sail across to the Queen's dominions. It
was a beautiful scheme for dissevering enforced hospitality so
far, 'and all went merry as a marriage bell," until the hour
preceding the auspicious moment for calling on the other
gentlemen. Then it became obvious that accursed treason had
been at work. The portholes of the block-houses were thrown
open and the field-pieces double shotted, guards doubled, and
force kept intact. It was one of three or four well-laid plans for
'a break' that were nipped in the hour of fruition, evidently
betrayed from

the inside of the prison-pen, and leaves but little doubt that
Secretary Staunton had his hireling spies and informers in our
midst in the guise of prisoners of war.

Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave,
Whose treason like a deadly blight
Comes o'er the counsels of the brave,
To blast them in their hour of might.

John M. Schofield of Illinois and John B. Hood of
Kentucky were likewise members of the same class, and
destined to play a most conspicuous part against each other at the
turning crisis of the conflict, making their death grapple at
Franklin the hinging struggle of the war. Hood, who had lately
superseded Joseph E. Johnson in the command of the Army of
the West, at once broke camp at Atlanta and moved northward
with his entire force, with the view to recapture Nashville and
penetrate Kentucky in order to strike a counteracting blow to
Sherman in his unopposed progress to the Atlantic coast. At
Columbia, he came up with his old friend and classmate,
Schofield, with about one-third of his numerical strength. It was
self-evident thence on that it was to be a foot-race from there
to Nashville, and that whichever got into those trenches first
would gain the decided vantage ground. Almost at the start it
became obvious that 'some one had blundered,' wofully,
egregiously blundered, to call it by no harsher name. Seeing his
opportunity from the lay of the ground, Hood detached one
of his hardest fighting divisions to make a detour, swing around
and intercept the retreat from the rear, whilst he with the rest of
his command would assail from the attacking side in pursuit.
Prettier plan was never devised for the annihilation of an army at
most critical juncture. It was a repetition, to all intents, of Jackson's
wonderful flank movement at Chancellorsville. A chance bullet
prevented the full fruition of the last. Far more culpable the
misadventure of the other in the very zenith of success.
Who was the responsible party for this utterly

inexcusable neglect or omission? The Captain or Lieutenant,
for one or the other necessarily was. Each said the other, God
pity the one that was! Not for the baton or regal crown would I
in foro conscientiae assume that dread responsibility.

Scofield filed by all night in such near touch to our lines that
his men would step out of ranks and light their pipes at our
bivouac fires. That argues that the detached division had
reached the suitable and objective point for carrying out the
object designed. Certain it is, the object was not carried out.
Who was to blame? In repetition, the Lieutenant said the
Captain, inasmuch as he was waiting specific orders which
never came. The Captain claims, and with presumption of
probability, that the other was. As he remarked to me some
four months afterwards on my way back from prison:

"Do you believe me, old friend, to be such a natural-born fool
as to have started him on this vital mission without definite
orders, as far as foresight could reach? Or do you believe him
to be one of the sort to undertake such a charge without orders?

"Besides," (he continued, almost with tears in his eyes) "I
dispatched three several couriers at intervals later on to
impress upon him the transcendent, the overwhelming
importance of intercepting Schofield. They all reported
subsequently that the order had been delivered in person."

Rest the blame on which it may, and I repeat in all religious
fervor, God pity the culpable! It was the last chance, but a
glorious opportunity for the Confederacy.

The Federal legions quietly moved by the rest of the night,
and within twenty-four hours thereafter were behind the
impregnable ramparts across Harpeth River near Franklin.
What followed was a hollocaust, a wholesale massacre for the
Confederate Army in pursuit. Without entering into close

enumeration, the loss inflicted on the assailants was almost
equal to the entire force within the works. Eleven of the best
General Officers were killed or wounded, including Pat
Clepburn, the 'Stonewall' of the West. Whatever may be
thought or said of the late culpability of omission, there can be
no two opinions as to the responsibility of commission here. The
Commanding General must assuredly bear it. His enemies
allege that this needless slaughter was the result of the
miscarriage of his soldierly scheme, just referred to, prompted
by chagrin, mortification, and disappointment. Be that as it may,
the actuating impulse what it might, whilst it was "grand, it was
not war."

From there to Nashville, Schofield had a walk-over, and later
on, as resultant of that wonderful fight, a walk-in to the chief
command of the United States Army.

A lot of desultory fighting around Nashville, devoid of
significance, followed, and that glorious, but shattered, army
started back to the Tennessee, a mere remnant as it was.
Lucky it was that on that retrograde march that a Michel Ney
turned up to save the retreat from a total rout, if not
extermination. One of the phenomenal men of all ages
happened to be on hand, as he seemed always to be at the right
place and at the right time whenever serious work had to be
done. It was Nathan Bedford Forrest, who, with none of
the fortuitous advantages of schools or training, had risen
from the ranks to the grade of Lieutenant-General, and by
unvarying success reflected imperishable renown on every
station. He was now a sort of independent chief of cavalry,
barely amenable to any nominal superior; actual he had none
after the death of Sidney Johnson. In his sublime self-consciousness,
he felt this then, and the recognized war critics
of the world have since felt and conceded it, including
Wolsely, Sherman, Grant, Maury, and others. I for one
have an undoubting belief that if he could have succeeded the

great Johnston in command the moment he fell, the Confederate
States would have been a recognized power of the nations
before six months had rolled around. The crisis called for a
man, and there he was; a born soldier, not of the mere
dilatory or dillettante or martinet or bulldog order, but one who
always carried a head on his shoulders, brimful of native brain
capacity, of far-reaching intuition, grasping the thing to do, and
never failing to do it. A man of resources and expedients at
critical juncture approaching the marvellous, with the
single thought ever in view of success to his side, and all-sustained
by powers of endurance approaching the superhuman,
marked the son of the North Carolina blacksmith as a veritable
son of Mars, surpassing in native, untutored genius for war all of
his age, if not of all preceding ages. Tennessee owes much to
her old mother - North Carolina, some of which has never been
credited, but the deepest obligation of all was in the bestowal and
adoption of this surpassing son of genius, and another of kindred
mould - him of the 'Hermitage,' two of the most stupendous
prodigies of the nineteenth century He saved the remnant of that
army as Ney saved that from Moscow, the two grandest men in
their respective armies, the imperial runaway not excepted. Next
to self-assertiveness in the discharge of duty, modesty was the
essential attribute of each. Each knew what he could do, but
never boasted or plumed himself on what he had done. It has
been one of the regrets of my subsequent life that I did not know
him better for our acquaintance was but transient.

But to return to the West Point of the fifties, on the eve of
war. Having now paid my respects to the boys of that day I
would be derelict to historic memoir to pass by some of the
Academic Staff who became history-makers in the same
momentous epoch, older boys by a few years.

Brevet-Captain Gustavus W. Smith had long since caught
the discerning eye of President Davis, when the latter was

at the head of the War Office of the United States Army.
Recognizing his great merit, he made him one of the five
full Confederate generals on taking the responsibility of
organizing the new army on the brink of hostilities. He proved
himself well deserving the confidence of his great Chief at
Seven Pines later on, until struck down by paralysis.

First-Lieutenant Joseph J. Reynolds was Assistant Professor
of Philosophy, and a philosopher he was. He it was who
enunciated the great dictum collateral with the great Dean's
two blades of grass truism; 'it costs less to feed two than one; I
know, for I have tried them both.' Encouragement that to a
subaltern connubiality, with proviso preliminary of dainty
appetite and Mrs. Gilpin's "frugal mind intent.' Gallant
gentleman that he was, he died in front of our brigade at the
deep railroad cut at Gettysburg, after inflicting a loss of some
nine hundred on us. He died a Major-General, United States
Army. Note corrective of mistaken identity as to the last-named.
In a recent two-days drive over the field (Gettysburg)
with my old friend and classmate, General O. O. Howard, he
told me that I was mistaken in inference as to initials. Instead
of J. J., it was J. F. Reynolds who died that day. As Howard
was his successor in command the rest of that eventful day, the
presumption is that he reported correctly. As Byron says:
"Such is fame! your name misspelt in a bulletin, or a bullet in
your body." Long may the other live to prove his theroy of
economy in duality.

First-Lieutenants John M. Jones, David R. Jones, and Henry
B. Clitz, were Assistant Instructors of Infantry Tactics, and
teachers and gentlemen all. The first two died General Officers
in the Confederate Army, and the last attained the like rank in
the Federal, and, I trust, still survives, for all who recall him
when he was in charge of one of the military departments of
the South, in the early days of

'reconstruction,' speak of him in affectionate and loving terms,
as one who never took advantage of his power and position to
ill-use or maltreat those then at his mercy, and a beautiful
epitaph it would be for this good soldier and worthy gentleman.
All who were puffed up with a little brief authority in those
dark days, which gave an insight into character and inward
nature, were not always so considerate. What is said of Clitz
applies with equal force to General Milton Cogswell, at the
time referred to a Second-Lieutenant and Assistant Professor
of Mathematics.

Lieutenant Andrew J. Donelson of the Engineers, though of
a later date, must not be given the go-by. His Corps indicated
his class standing; his brief graduate army record, his merit. He
died at Memphis, a First-Lieutenant of Engineers, on October
20, 1859. His brother, John S., a Yale graduate, and my very
particular friend, was killed at Chickamauga, a promoted
captain after five wounds antecedent.

Brevet-Major Fitz John Porter became a distinguished Major-
General in the Union Army, and made a name for himself, until
in an evil hour a ranking incompetent, much famed for modesty
and veracity, became conscious that he needed a scapegoat to
take off the blame and responsibility of a most ignominious
defeat. And so, for twenty years, this true soldier and
unblemished gentleman had to bear the soldier's dreaded
stigma of being derelict and behindhand in the hour of
emergency. For twenty years he had to pay this dread penalty
to graded imbecility. One of the pleasant recollections of my
life was helping to undo this greivous wrong by a vote in
Congress.

That outrage is suggestive of the judicial murder by court-
martial of Admiral Byng, and that, nearly a century later, of
that poor lad 'Spencer' on the brig Somers. Scapegoats these
to ranking incapacity, imbecility and cowardice. Apposite to
these, the most glaring instance of injustice, not to

say national ingratitude, was the virtual humiliation of a later-on
and valued friend, then Major, later on Major-General, Don
Carlos Buell. This grand soldier and true gentleman turned an
overwhelming defeat, or more appropriate rout, of a grand
army of one day into a glorious victory the next, and such was
his recognition.

First-Lieutenant and Brevet-Major George H. Thomas was
instructor of Artillery and Cavalry, and Porter was his assistant.
A cold, phlegmatic, unimpressionable man he always seemed to
me, but a born soldier, as the near future proved him to be. Had
he been born a hundred miles nearer the North Pole, it might be
added, one without taint or blemish. Unfortunately however, for
his good name and historic reputation, he chose to be swaddled
and cradled on this side of the Potomac, and when it came to taking
sides he chose to espouse that of those on the other. At Chickamauga
he struck his native section and maternal State the heaviest
single blow that had fallen up to that time. It was a crushing
blow to his natural and territorial instincts, and a most telling
one for the side of his choosing. It was a heart-rending
reflection to the embattled South that the two most terrible
strokes dealt her, up to that period, were by two sons of her
own nurture, the one on land, and the other on the water. Here
was one. Farragut was the other. Ought it not to be an equally
mortifying reflection to the victorious side that, in spite of her
overwhelming preponderance in numbers and resources, her
undersized competitor had to furnish her with the sledge-
hammers to crush her? The gratitude of the beneficiary was
fully shown to each, both by permanent promotion and post-
mortuary memorials. But 'marble shaft and monumental brass'
only impress the more indelibly the 'damned spot, which will not
out.' Both have my pity with all of their grandeur and equivocal
honors. Such as they are, let them wear them in peace.

More agreeable the task to speak of another Virginian,
against whom the breath of calumny or detraction has never
been heard, and in whose behalf encomium and panegyric have
been so utterly exhausted that nothing in the way of novelty or
originality can be uttered. Were I called upon to designate the
highest tribute ever penned in his praise, it would be that of the
learned Englishman, Professor Long, if memory is not at fault.
He was about to publish his life of Marcus Aurelius, whom he
assumes to have been the grandest and most perfect man in
the annals of time. An American friend stated in print that the
work was to be dedicated to General Grant. This he
emphatically denies, adding, in effect, that he had never
dedicated a book to any man in his life and did not propose
ever to deviate from his rule. "If I could get my consent so to
do," he adds, "this life of the grandest man would be inscribed
to the next grandest before or since his time, the modest
unpretentious schoolmaster in the hills of Virginia, who rounds
off his matchless war record by a sublime example to the
young men of his land." The quotation is from recollection, and
not from text, but the substance is in it. Already he had been by
consensus of the world's unbiased verdict pedestaled in the
then recognized group of the five greatest captains of all time.
This estimate puts him above them all, as the unmatched man
in history with but a single exception. Include Saul of Tarsus,
better known as Saint Paul, and the standing assigned him by
this impartial critic is not extravagant. At the time of his
becoming Superintendent of the Military Academy (1852), he
was in the prime of life, only forty-five years of age, although
he had but lately emerged from the Mexican war with the
distinction surpassing all perhaps, except the two commanding
Generals. He came to us at the Academy as a Captain of
Engineers and Brevet Colonel. Never was brevet rank more
worthily won, for by planning the campaign from Vera Cruz to
the City of

Mexico he made it one of the most famous in the annals of war.
When he came, he was one of the finest looking specimens of high
manhood, both a-foot and in saddle, but especially the latter,
that mortal eye ever rested upon.

The first time that I ever had the honor of colloquial
converse with this man of men was on occasion herewith to
follow. In the ranks one day my friend, Archie Gracie, one of
the heroes already alluded to, concluded to have a little fun, in a
quiet way, all to himself, by planting his hoofs, not of the
feminine Chinese pattern, upon my heels. This he persisted in
doing, despite a gentle remonstrance, possibly a little
emphasized. Job had patience, but he was never subjected to
such an ordeal as this, and so the gentleman in the rear was
quietly notified, perhaps with a slight additional inflection of
emphasis, that he would get a drubbing as soon as ranks were
broken. To which he impudently retorted: "not from you!" Here
was a dare and a take-up that no boy of spirit could resist. It
was the 'chip on the shoulder,' and he dared to knock it off, and
so in point of honor there had to be a fulfilment of promise.

This duty was being discharged with unction, when an
officious individual of muscular proportions, Patrice de Janon by
name, then master of the foils, and later on Professor of
Spanish, had to interfere and break up the fun. I thought at the
time it was a mean thing to do. Perhaps friend Archie was of a
different opinion, for, though I say it myself, I was getting
decidedly the best of it when old 'Smallswords' had to
intermeddle in the scrimmage. Long years later on, when he
called on me in Washington, I reproached him for his
officiousness on that occasion, and so, methinks, did his
conscience, for both by instinct and profession he ought to have
known better than to intermeddle in a good square stand-up
fight between two worthy gentlemen. A fight to the finish
would have done me lots of good, and Gracie but little

hurt, for he was a much more powerful man, and, besides, it
would have inculcated an object lesson, or rather a moral, on
his young, impressionable nature never to be forgotten: namely,
never to step on a man's toes, or his heels either, without good
and sufficient provocation. Be that as it may, when "the mill,"
to use a vulgar slang expression, was called off by the
master of fence, I declined the introduction requested, and
walked off to the barracks.

Not so, dear old Gracie, who, in addition to his name and
surname, his patronymic and matronymic, perhaps, gave
himself completely away. When asked for my name, however,
he replied, like the sterling gentleman that he was, "you will
have to ask him, for I'm no informer." In consequence, he got
all the penalty, and a very heavy one it was, for fighting on
the parade ground, and I came off scot-free for the time being.
A good joke that, on dear old Gracie!

The next morning I called upon the Superintendent at his
office, and the purport of the interview follows. I opened it
thus:

"Colonel Lee, Mr. Gracie was yesterday reported for
fighting on the parade ground, and 'the other fellow' was not."

"Yes, sir," (was the reply), "and I presume you are the other
fellow."

"I am, sir, and I wish to submit the case in full for your
consideration. Don't you think it very hard on him, Colonel,
after getting the worst of the fracas, to have to take all of the
penalty incident?"

"Admitted, what then?" (was the reply).

"Simply this, sir. Whatever punishment is meted out to him, I
insist on having the same given to me."

"The offence entails a heavy penalty" (he said).

"I am aware of the fact, Colonel, but Mr. Gracie is not
entitled to a monopoly of it."

once seen, could not easily be forgotten), "No, sir; you will get
neither report nor penalty for this, and neither will Mr. Gracie
get the last. I will cancel his report. Don't you think, Mr. Green,
that it is better for brothers to dwell together in peace and
harmony?"

"Yes, Colonel, and if we were all like you, it would be an
easy thing to do."

A few minutes later, while looking out of the window, I
saw Gracie pass with Colonel Lee's orderly following behind,
and whilst still thinking of the coincidence, the door opened and
the dear old boy entered and seized my hand without uttering a
word, and the breach was closed, and thence on until he poured
out his heroic heart's blood, a rich libation on the altar of liberty,
there was never a harsh word or an unkind thought passed
between us. Is it hard to divine who was the blessed
peacemaker on that occasion?

This is the same young general previously referred to, who,
when General Lee ascended the earthwork in front of his
brigade to make personal observation of the enemy's with a
view to some contemplated strategic stroke, and would not
hearken to the plaintive appeals of the men below to come
down, - "For God's sake, General Lee, come down!" The
incident as detailed was in the closing days of the Anaconda
grip about Petersburg and the last days of the Confederacy. It
was then that Archibald Gracie proved himself the hero that
nature moulded him. Rushing up the parapet whilst minnies
were buzzing like bumblebees about the "Great Captain," he
stepped between him and the hostile sharpshooters. "Back to
the trenches, General Gracie!" came the sharp
command, - and the cool reply, "After you, General Lee. I
never expected to disobey an order of yours, but here I do until
you first obey an order of mine. Tumble over there, General,
and I'll follow, but not a step before. I can catch a ball as well
as you, and better a thousand, than you one." For once
insurbordination was justifiable.

As tradition runneth, in order to save that bull-headed
Brigadier, there was a momentary reversal of rank, the
Lieutenant maintaining the upper hand of control, and so to
paraphrase the nursery rhyme: "Old Marse Bob came tumbling
down, and Gracie came tumbling after!" I tell the tale as it has
been told and repeated to me, for I was not an eye-witness, but
it was so in keeping with the noble nature of these two gallant
gentlemen that it is accepted without the usual cum grano
under such circumstances.

These references to a few of the recognized heroes of that
memorable epoch might be much extended were it not for fear
of being thought over diffuse in laudation as well as a little
prolix in recital. Others will probably appear later on.

And so for three years, that is to say from 1850 to 1853,
academic life flowed on in its quiet, limpid stream with but little
to vary the usual routine of parades, guard mountings, and drills
of various kinds, and kindred duties. True, during camp season
the Point was besieged by city belles and other fair harpies,
who then did, and still do, congregate to whet their beaks on
unsophisticated squabs simply to retain normal appetites,
cultivate the lures and wiles, and keep their hands in for the
winter campaign for larger game on their return to town. They
always seemed to relish the fun, little caring for the havoc of
young hearts that they were to leave behind, as later on
indicated by lugubrious looks and furnace sighs. Poor fellows; it
did them no hurt in the end, and did the dear creatures lots of
good.

Concomitant to these love episodes and summer cooings
were the cadet balls, with dulcet strains discoursed by one of
the finest orchestras in the world. The dances were almost
exclusively of the good old-fashioned "square" English sort,
with an occasional waltz by those well acquainted, and almost
always winding up with the ever-to-be honored old Virginia reel.
The later-on abomination of French invention and high Dutch
cognomen had not then crept in, thank the Lord.

CHAPTER IX.

At the end of the time named I handed in my resignation,
having no desire to enter and remain in the army in time of
peace. My stay at the Academy was, on the whole, the most
agreeable connected three years of my early life inasmuch as it
brought intimate association with a band of the noblest
gentlemen that I have since known, as an aggregate, with but
few frictions resulting from contact. Coming from one of my
unfortunately assertive nature, it is a no mean compliment to
pay to the friends and associates of that interesting period.

I parted from the dear fellows with mutual pangs of regret,
unless I am greatly mistaken. One little incident may not be out
of place in that connection. The afternoon before leaving, while
sitting on a rock overlooking the Hudson, in melancholy
reflection, Phil Sheridan, later on Commanding General U. S.
Army, happened to be passing, and asked permission to join me.
The request was a surprise, as he was in an advanced class and
there never had been any intimacy between us. In fact, the poor
fellow, for reasons needless to mention, had hardly an associate,
let alone an intimate, on the place. He began: "I hear, Sept., that
you have resigned. Is it so?" "Yes," was the reply. "Is it too late
to recall your resignation?" was his next query, with evident
concern. "But I have no desire to," was my reply; and so we
parted, after a few more words.

If, at that time, I had been called upon to designate the man
on that historic spot who would later on reach the high rank
Sheridan attained, he would probably have been one of the very
last to have come under consideration, and such, methinks,
would have been the almost unanimous forecast of all who
knew him. Proof that is, that the boy is not always

father of the man, gauged by the world's criterion - success.
That he developed into a superb cavalry leader, doubtless
unequalled by any other on the Federal side, stands confessed.
That he is entitled to place on the same professional plane with
Forrest, Stuart, or Hampton, is far more debatable. Whatever
his status may be on that line, I for one maintain that it had
been far better for his historic fame had he died in battle before
the end of the struggle came. Had he done so, he would have
been spared the horrible reproach, which perhaps none has
borne since Alva, of needlessly desolating an utterly
defenseless country, occupied only by old men, women and
children, wiping out every vestige of mill, granary and
smokehouse, in his terrible path; and his still more brutal boast -
that the crow that followed in his wake would have to carry his
rations along with him - not surpassed even by that of Attila
the Hun - that where his horse planted his hoof, grass never
grew again.

This historic march, more appropriately Hunish foray, had
counterpart later on in the virtual extirpation of the entire tribe
of Piegan Indians, regardless of sex, infancy, or decrepitude.
The last is paralleled in recent English story only by the
massacre of Glencoe, so far as reading recalls. Neither is
worthy of imitation henceforth and forevermore. Allusion is
made to the two incidents in his life story to show how easy is
the transition from racial nobility to barbarianism when instinct
points the way.

Perhaps a more flagrant disregard of inherent rights and
Anglo-Saxon liberty than his forcible arrest of five members of
the Louisiana Legislature in their seats, for partisan purpose,
cannot be cited. True, the same identical outrage was
attempted in the House of Commons some 250 years ago, even
down to the self-same number of five, by one Charles Stuart;
'By the grace of God, etc., King of England, etc.' But
our cranky old progenitors, always serious at serious juncture,

did not laugh at this culmination of the sportive tricks of the
aforesaid Charles Rex, and so they turned about and arrested
him, led him to a block, and chopped off his head, and the better
thinking portion of mankind have ever since ratified the regicide
verdict with: 'served him right.' So should it be with those in
authority, who disregard the natural, no less than the legal
limitations and restrictions against abuse of power.

In striking contrast this man's career to that of his classmate
and immediate successor in the chief army command, John M.
Schofield, of whom it can be truly said: "A soldier in war, a
citizen in peace, a gentleman always." Fortunate would it be for
Sheridan's immediate predecessor, as well as for himself and
his successor one degree removed, if they were entitled to wear
the same proud badge of honor without abbreviation. Alas! due
regard for historical truth, and what should be our national
standard, forbids it. Schofield filled the bill. The others had their
ephemeral honors and emoluments in this life. Let them pass on
to their allotted place in Dante's dream; they have had their
prize rewards on this side of Charon's creek, to the cost of
others.

I do not forget that I am stepping on new made graves, nor
have I forgotten the point of the Latin apothegm - "De mortuis
nil, etc." If so, let it be borne in mind that history has been
equally oblivious in handling the post-mortem reputations of
certain worthies with whom she had to deal, notably, Nero,
Caligula, Commodus, and Domitian. She and her scribes have
not been tender-footed or mealy-mouthed whenever it was
necessary to call a spade a spade, or a tyrant a tyrant. When a
people grow too squeamish for such good old English, pure
and undefiled, they have grown to be too delicate and refined
to be fit conservators of English liberty.

Leaving the Military Academy, which was done with
sincere regret at having to sever congenial ties, I next
turned my

steps to the great school founded by the immortal Jefferson,
and, like everything that he ever did, on the most rational basis
of any other. Educational tyros and moneyed magnates have
tried in vain to eclipse his handiwork by lordly bequests of
millions and tens of millions on the gorgeous mausolea which
they reared, ostensibly dedicated to learning, but with the
unmistakable tombstone inscription paramount, 'to mortuary
vanity and vainglory.' Well be the motive of ground foundation
what it may, they doubtless have their utility, even if learned
faculties must now and then keep their tongues and thinking
functions under curb in deference to foundational mandate,
when trenching on topica-interdicta, as Galileo did.
Jefferson's school was on the model of his State - no undue
restriction on thought or inculcation.

Before matriculating, I had passed the summer with my
father and family at the White Sulphur Springs, Virginia. There
I imbibed many of his beneficent precepts. Handing me one
day a case of superb duelling pistols, which had been in service
in the 'ould country,' where such playthings had whilom been
deemed an essential adjunct to a polite education, he gave me
his paternal blessing and parting admonition - "Learn to use
them, my son, but be mighty careful that you never do, at ten
yards off or so, without just, ample and sufficient provocation."
Like a dutiful son, I have heeded his injunction in both regards.
Occupying a two-room cottage in a retired grove all to myself
afforded excellent opportunity for varying Chitty on Contracts
with Sir Jonah on Hair-triggers. I soon became a famous
expert, and although my nerves are not steady as they then
were, still my right hand has not yet lost its cunning.

God be praised, I never have had to use them in the manner
intimated, but, on the contrary, have prevented others doing
so in my confidential capacity of 'friend,' when called on for
their loan, never compromising the honor or good name

of those who did me the honor to request the unwelcome
service. And so I have long since had serious misgivings
whether the duello is an unmitigated evil under proper
conditions, a judicious and well-selected adviser, or friend if you
will, always being the primary one. Under this, and other
proper limitations, both reason and recollection tell me that it
might be a very salutary check on bullies and blackguards, who
prefer the revolver-drop, unawares, to a fair stand-up fight
where neither has the advantage. As proof of this, we have
only to instance the overwhelming preponderance of foul and
cowardly killings that have succeeded the old and honored
mode of settling personal difficulties in the earlier part of the
just expired century.

The next morning, while still in bed, I was honored with a
visit from my paternal ancestor. He left me not long in doubt as
to the motive of such an unusual matutinal call. After due
preface and preamble, he began much on the ex-cathedraic
strain, which was his usual style when wishing to be
excessively persuasive or rather impressive. "My son, after
getting your law license, of course you would like a year or two
of foreign travel to complete your education, and such is my
intention." After thanking him for this fresh proof of his fatherly
regard, he continued: "Yes, travel expands the ideas, but, of
course, no man of sense cares to go abroad to gaze at the
monuments of man until he has first beheld the great natural
curiosities of his own land, especially Niagara, the Natural
Bridge, and the Mammoth Cave. Now, you have two or three
weeks, before the University opens, to run out to Kentucky
and take in the last, and then drop down to Nashville and pay a
brief visit to your maternal kin." "But, father," I put in, "I do not
care to see the old cave; I am very well satisfied here." "Yes,
a little too well satisfied," was his sarcastic rejoinder. "The
stage for Guyandotte leaves at 12 o'clock. Here's your ticket
on a back seat, and

here's a hundred dollars for the trip. Have your trunk on in
time." Be sure, after such an injunction, that trunk was
aboard betimes, for my slight acquaintance with General G.,
had long since convinced me that when he imparted his orders
with marked emphasis, he always meant what the words
imported. But why that stretch of emphasized authority? After
much subsequent cogitation on the subject, it has dawned on
me that he had gotten the idea on the brain that I was falling in
love injudiciously, and he resolved to blast my incipient affection
by a dose of enforced absence. The remedy proved effective in
the end, if, indeed, the malady had really set in, but its
ministration made me think at the time that the General was a
hard superior, and unfeeling man.

As now recalled, the trip to the Ohio then took two days and
nights, now as many hours; and a most disagreeable one it
proved, melting all day and freezing all night. The change in that
altitude was intense, but that was not the worst of it. The
recollection of that first night on the bleak mountain-top sends
the cold shivers over me whenever it obtrudes itself. A hold-up
by a lone highwayman, do you ask? No, nor by a dozen. Better
had it been for my future peace of mind. But the story calls for
full recital, after getting thus far in the blood-curdling
preliminaries. No, it was not a hold-up, or a turn-over either.
Worse than the combination. But, ab initio, to make a
connected narrative.

When the stage left the 'White,' there were two New York
men of maturer years than mine occupying front seats, besides
four unmentionables, including two ladies, one of whom sat by
me on the rear seat, leaving the middle seat to the three others.
It was my misfortune to have that brace of Manhat-islanders
for travelling companions for many days thereafter. Not that a
tragedy ensued. No, owing to my forbearance and sweet
disposition, neither of them died on the trip. They were, on the
whole, good fellows, but a little

over-given to levity and frivolity. Knowing that we were to be
close-mewed up together for a long time to come, we all soon
became acquainted; in fact, might be said to be on a friendly and
familiar footing. At a stopping-place two or three hours from the
start, an old gentleman of about seventy and a young lady of
perhaps twenty got in, he taking the vacant front seat, and she
the vacant rear, the other one by me. They both looked mighty
spank and spruce in new duds, and with my natural precipitancy
in coming to conclusions, I said to myself: the old gentleman is
taking his pretty granddaughter on to a finishing-off school. The
damsel was exceedingly fair to look upon, and so, extending the
unvoiced monologue, the next remark was - here's consolation
for you, my boy, for the paternal tyranny to which you have just
been subjected. And so, beginning an acquaintance on platitude
and commonplace, as moonshine tipped the mountaintop, I
was floating in moonshine and syllabub and spouting the love
poets in her seemingly willing ear. In extenuation for such
precipitancy on the amatory line, let it be said that the situation
and the subject were conducive to it, and that I had just
emerged from semi-monastic durance, during which for nine
months in the year the dear creatures were regarded as
curiosities, and to be caught by a bob-tail lieutenant talking to or
walking with a stray specimen was out of sheer envy regarded
as a dereliction almost tantamount to a visit to Benny Havens,
whose acquaintance I am proud to say I never made.
Furthermore, I was young, simple, unsophisticated, and since
getting the better of normal and inborn dread of them, of a most
impressionable nature. Besides, had not my maiden affection
just been crushed by an arbitrary exercise of power?

All went merry as a marriage-bell until there came a
portentious caution from the front. "Young man, when you get
through with that nonsense, we would like to go to sleep."

There came a suppressed double chuckle from the New
York corner of that vehicle in response to that broad ill-timed
personality. But after such a hint, from one seeming to
be in authority, all nonsense ceased for the rest of that night. At
the breakfast house the next morning, two of our fellow
voyagers stopped over. She did not even say goodbye to me at
parting. But, oh, the scream that went up from the others as we
were leaving that hashery. "Jones, that beat the Bowery all
hollow." "Well, I should say so," came the reply; "the idea of
making love to a bride of twelve-hours-standing, in the very
teeth of her husband, beats bob-tail as well as the Bowery." "It's
not so," I cried; "she is his granddaughter." With that, there was
another wild explosion of guffaw, in which I grieve to say the
ladies were the loudest. Then followed lame imitations from
Annabel Lee, Maid of Athens, Lalla-Rookh, etc., etc., all
horribly mutilated and murdered.

The stage was stopped and I got out with the driver, hoping
to find more congenial society, which came to wish. The
scenery from the box was grand, especially the far-famed
Hawk's Nest, a precipice of 1500 feet, apparantly
perpendicular. Bill was communicative without being at all
offensive. As an instance, he called attention to an over-turned
stage some hundred yards down the mountain side, which had
brought up against a sapling. "Was any one killed?" I asked
with bated breath. "Well, that's just what Jim asked from up
here," having jumped off as he saw it was going down. "Well,
what was the answer?" "No, but there will be up there as soon
as I get to the top," replied a Kentuckian as he started up with a
revolver. "Did he wait?" "Not Jim, he was too smart for that; he
took to his heels, and left them all to shift for themselves, and
they had to walk five miles to the next station."

stern-wheeler picked us up about midnight, and in due, or
rather it should be said undue time, landed us in Louisville.
The New Yorkers and I called to see Porter, the Kentucky
giant, during the afternoon. In bulk he was much bigger
than John C. Calhoun or Andrew Jackson, but there
all-comparison ended. The next day, I took stage Nashville,
via the big cave. At the stopping-place, seven miles short, I
tried to find out something about it from the old landlord.
His reply was, "You will have to ask some one else. I have
lived here all my life but have never been there." Here was
curiosity for you, not to take a morning's walk to see one of
the world's greatest wonders, for so I found it in all verity.
The Grotto of Adelsburg, which I saw later on, may surpass
it in scenic effect, but falls far short in grandeur and immensity
of dimensions. A second visit, long years subsequently,
only strengthened first impressions.

After a week's sojourn on old familiar tramping ground, I
started back to the University, this time by steam. On the
train, came up with an old cadet friend with a funny
reminiscence. Daniel was of a social turn and prone to drop in
on his friends, whether in or out of study hours mattered
little, and he was usually a welcome visitor, for he was brimful
of Georgia scenes, far surpassing Judge Longstreet's in
pith and point of narrative. Of course, no door, even of the
most studious of us delvers after the unfathomable, could be
closed in the face of such a one as he. Now, there is, or
was, a ridiculous rule or regulation prevailing in that school,
restricting social interchange of jokes and anecdotes. No
visiting between certain hours, it read, and certain penalties
for infraction, or words to that effect. Now, it so happened
that at this particular juncture, the inspecting officer, or
scooper-up of culprits, was Lieutenant Baker, who still wore
his cadet soubriquet of 'Betsy Baker,' a worthy gentleman as
I see him now, a veritable sleuth-hound as then. Now, Betsy

had a knack of making his tours of inspection at the most
unreasonable and unexpected hours, when ingenuous youth
was least on the lookout, and as it turned out, on the
inauspicious occasion to follow. While Daniel was in the midst
of a lovely recital of some particularly laughable incident,
located of course down in Georgia, the jingling of Betsy's
sabre was heard entering the opposite room. It took but a
moment for Daniel to jump in the fire-place and to have the
screen closed behind him. Quick as it was, however, the
commotion within doubtless aroused Betsy's suspicions, as he
had probably been along there himself in the recent past.
After making the usual cursory and perfunctory look around
to satisfy himself that we were in and everything in place,
he opened the door, but closed it again, leaving the impression
on the man in the fire-place that he had made his egress.
After waiting a few moments for developments, we heard a
voice from the mural tomb: "Say, Sep., hasn't 'old Bets'
gone yet?" The reply came from our visitor: "No, Mr.
Daniel, 'old Bets' is still here, waiting to take your name and
measure." As poor Daniel emerged from the chimney, a
veritable conglomerate of Santa Claus and his namesake of
the lion's den, three of us exploded, but the fourth one
couldn't see anything to laugh at.

Arrived at Charlottesville, I at once entered on my new
course of study, taking the two tickets of law and belles lettres
with political economy interjected in the last. The Law
School was presided over by Professors Minor and Holcombe,
and the other by Professor McGuffey, the famous author of
the series of school readers, which in their day were read in
most of the elementary schools of the land, and which
probably have never since been improved upon. They were
erudite, not to say recondite, teachers, and all attained
celebrity in their new sphere of action, and later on.

of the institution, that few young men, and in that day they were
usually such, and not boys, ever took the two courses of
lectures without coming out thoroughly imbued with 'States-
rights' indoctrination, and of such I was no exception, although
paternal precepts had made the way easy to that rational and
orthodox line of political faith. And yet, Dr. McGuffey, who
was the brainest schoolmaster that I have over known, after a
somewhat varied and diversified acquaintance with the
brotherhood, was decidedly Federalistic in his leanings and line
of thought - if the expression may be used - a Whig of
Whigs. But, like the wise and conscientious teacher that he
was, he would give the arguments pro and con dispassionately
on great governmental questions, such as the Bank, the Tariff,
Internal Improvements, etc., and leave conclusions to the
judgment of his hearers. The usual result of this Socratic mode
of indoctrination was a brood of unfledged States-Rights
Democrats at the end of the term. For all that, I owe dear old
'Guff' a grudge for forcing a class distinction on me in spite of
myself.

All three of the gentlemen named were an honor to their
profession, and supplied cud to chew upon from that day to this.
This was in great measure due to freedom from schoolboy
espionage and insensate restraint. The sort of young men then
at that school required no such juvenile restraint, curb, and
oversight. They were as a body well born, high bred, and
cultured to a high degree, before applying for admission into the
characteristic institution. As a rule, they had reached years of
ordinary discretion, and leaving their boyish tricks and sportive
tendencies behind them, had come there with fixed purpose to
absorb the modicum of erudition within range of reach, before
entering the great arena which they saw just ahead. They
buckled down to their work in good earnest, and I with them, a
creditable commonwealth for an older community's imitation.

Speaking of college honors, I trust my vanity may be excused
for brief reference to one which was barely missed, and which
would have been most highly prized, though it came not through
the Faculty. At the time of which mention is made, and
presumptively ever since, there were two literary, or more
properly speaking, debating societies at the University. In
christening these, it is highly probable that the primary
matriculates of two generations antecedent were as little
familiar with high Hellenic as scores of country high schools
have been ever since, which usually prefer euphemistic Greek
compounds at the baptismal font on such occasions, as for
instance, 'The Demosthenian," 'The Euphemasian,' and the like,
to their good old honest mother-tongue nomenclature. Not of
that ilk were Mr. Jefferson's boys some hundred years ago, as
the two societies were duly dubbed 'The Jefferson,' and 'The
Washington,' in honor of the two biggest men that the great
mother of big men had up to that time produced. There were
disputants in each who would not have shamed Parliamentary
bodies of a far more pretentious standard, as many have since
electrified senates and shaped governmental polity, while not a
few fill heroes' graves.

Preferring the political tenets and tendencies of Monticello to
those of Mount Vernon, I was soon enrolled in the ranks of
'The Jeff,' numerically about three to one in excess of the other.
On second or third appearance in that forum, I was assigned to
the discussion of the question at the next succeeding meeting. It
was a fundamental political question, and one fraught with
momentous consequences thence on forever, as it had been
from the adoption of the Federal Constitution the most vital of
all. It involved, or rather brought into bold relief, the legitimate
relationship between the State and General Government,
naturally trenching on the right of resumption of delegated
powers. Recognizing the transcendent

importance of a true conception of the mighty issues
involved, then and thence on to Appomattox, where the glaived
hand of overwhelming force gave the 'Constitutional
Federative' system its quietus forever, I was as full of the
theme in preparation for that mimic senate as if the forensic tilt
was destined to come off in the Capitol before one of Catos.
Goodbye to text books for the week to follow. I was too full of
the fate of Rome, and more especially of another great kindred
Republic, to give time or thought to trivialities or puerilities.
Page after page, if not quire after quire, of foolscap was spoiled
to connect the line of thought. The Madison papers were
analyzed and dissected by paragraph in order to give the true
intent of the 'Framers,' and so the 'Resolution' of '97 and '98,
the Missouri Compromise and its legitimate offspring in base
born bastardy, fitly dubbed the 'Omnibus Bill,' were torn into
tatters and scattered to the four winds. Then long walks were
taken morning, noon, and at nightfall, memorizing the sublimity
of thought on paper.

Finally, as the eventful night drew on apace, I felt confidant
of reciting my little piece with the unbroken fluency of a
juvenile Demosthenes, tackling Cassabianca for the first time.
Alas! the best laid plans of mice and men, etc., etc. I was
hardly twenty words deep in a telling exordium before
floundering beyond mental depth. In this initial effort on any stage,
that terror of the tyro or debutant, known as stage fright, had hit a
stunning blow between the eyes. All connectedness of
preconceived words and phraseology vanished. I felt very
much like our imported French riding-master did at West Point
when he lost his saddle in an incipient charge, or the General
commanding the army when he imitated the trans-Atlantic
charlatan by falling off his horse the other day in the presence of
the Presidency and the other assembled magnates of the
nation. The business of each was to ride, and not to fall and
each doubtless objected to being the

special spectacular of a reversal of the program. 'Frenchy'
confessed as much in saying: 'Gentil-hommes, I did vish that
the ground vould open ven I fell off that tam horse!' Probably,
so thought too the Grand General of the U. S. Army (Miles) as
he felt himself doomed to such ignominious exit from the
admiring gaze of that grand assemblage on that grand
occasion. If such was the thought at that terrible moment, it is
safe to say that if it had been put in words, it would today meet
a hearty 'Amen' response in the past predicate, from an
overwhelming majority of his countrymen, inclusive of the best
element of those under his immediate command. Be that as it
may, there was a new-fledged aspirant for histrionic distinction
about that time, who may be supposed to have felt as the Count
felt 'ven he was falling off that tam horse!' Of course, it goes
without question that the transplanted master of horse was a
count and grand legionary, or something of that sort, as Uncle
Sam has as little use for untitled pretension of the foreign sort
as have our moneyed belles of the shoddy variety.

At the awful juncture referred to, when vainly essaying to
catch on to the connection in the manuscript, and when being
guyed unmercifully by some three or four hundred new-made
friends, scarcely a dozen of whom were known by sight,
it became evident that a crisis was imminent and a change of
base essential. Grasping at the traditional straw of the drowning
man, there was a hurried colloquy held in another debating
society whose hall was in the garret of an individual cranium.
The question flashed with electric thrill: Why continue to make
a ninny of yourself by trying to recite your memorized parroty
lesson word by word? You are reasonably master of the
subject and know what you wish to say. Say it. And so I did,
and made the hit of my life on the oracular line, as then felt,
and ever since known. Before proceeding five minutes on the
new line, gibes and sneers had

given way to pretty continuous applause and cries of 'Go on,'
when time was up. But higher proof was forthcoming at the
next succeeding assembly when a President for the year had to
be chosen. To my extreme surprise my name was placed in
nomination for that high and much coveted distinction, as
tradition averred that at least two years membership was
indispensable to justify a presumptuous eye on the Chair. I
failed to reach the goal by a single vote, the successful
competitor being the grandson and namesake of America's
most famous orator and himself not one of a common order,
being the acknowledged champion disputant of the society, a
claim which he made good on the wider arena for the few
eventful years preceding his untimely end. He had been at the
University, as I was told, six or seven years battling for that
recognized highest academic prize, Master of Arts of the
University of Virginia. That year he was one of the half-dozen
aspirants who won the coveted degree of A. M.

Recurring to that adverse majority of one, it has been a
fateful numeral for me in many, if not most of my electoral
contests. By one vote I lost the colonelcy of the Twelfth North
Carolina Regiment in the early part of 1863; by one vote, failed
to take seat in the North Carolina State Senate, although
conceded even by my opponent to be entitled to it by two or
three hundred majority. (Note. In the first of these I was not
aware that an election was pending. The other was in war
times, when not hankering after political preferment.)
Nevertheless, it was a remarkable coincidence, which has
never probably befallen another with my limited appetite for
promotion.

It has been a standing regret in later life, that I did not profit
more from the obvious teaching of this maiden effort, namely,
that in all subsequent ones I had not placed less reliance on 'the
letters Cadmus gave,' and attached more importance to clothing
ideas in less finished phrase, and in more

honest, manly, homespun garb. Or to change the metaphor, that
manuscript had never been relied upon as crutch to help a
treacherous memory, if not a lame and halting argument. No,
take my advice and follow example mentioned, oh!
sophomores; first master your subject and then get mad and go
it blind, regardless of meliferous phrase or stilted expression. I
have seen many a self-complacent sophomore (Anglicized
'wise fool') fool a crowd of bigger fools with words only,
barring a due infusion of rant and fustian.

After a scholastic year at this model institution, during which
let us hope a due proportion of intellectual pabulum fell to my
share, the spirit of change or unrest came over me again and
prompted fresh pastures green for omnivorous browsing. In my
boyhood town in Tennessee, there had lately sprung up a law
school which, for the time, had grown into celebrity
overshadowing all the others. Although only the adjunct of a
country high-school, modestly dubbed University, it became
almost from its birth a recognized fountain-head of legal lore
throughout the land, rivaling, if not eclipsing, the older and far
more famous schools of the East. This phenomenal
development was doubtless due to its being under the auspices
of three of the most learned judges in that State or any other,
namely, Greene, Caruthers, and Ridley, whose personal and
professional repute gave their school name and fame far and
wide, suggestive of that of the famous Abelard, most renowned
teacher of his time.

I was prompted to give up the University for this new-fledged
candidate for forensic fame by the reflection that the
succeeding course of lectures would in the main be but a
repetition of those just heard, and the hope of imbibing a fresh
infusion of thoughts and ideas by a change of instructors.
Without the slightest reflection on the others, candor compels
the admission that to the best of belief, I was not mistaken. A
two-mile walk before and after was perhaps

CHAPTER X.

A few days later I was back with my father and family at
the old St. Nicholas Hotel, New York, then the leading
caravansary of the New World, which goes, without saying, of
the entire world. What a wonderful transformation has since
taken place in this field, as in every other. Gorgeous as it was
in its time, it would still hardly be ranked today as fit
intermediate halting place on the stage-road of time between
old Sam Johnson's revered taverns and the palatial publics of
the close of the century, rivaling the homes of royalty in their
get-up and concomitants of splendor and magnificence.

A few days later, after having been admitted to practice
before the Supreme Court of the United States upon application
of the Hon. George E. Badger, perhaps at the time the leading
practitioner before that august tribunal, I was duly inducted into
the office of Walker and Janin, to which reference has already
been made. Well do I recall a remark of the great North
Carolina jurist at the hotel that night: 'Young man, I have made
a novitiate of you; you'll have to make a lawyer of yourself.'
Perhaps, had home manufacture been left to myself, the
outcome might have turned out a fairly reasonable success, for
I would have put the bottom rung in the ladder before putting
in the topmost one.

My judgment would have enjoined an initial before a village
Dogberry, like other legal aspirants in the chrysalis state,
instead of taking the remote and improbable chance of riveting
the attention of America's greatest Chief-Justice, for so I hold
Roger Taney to have been, despite a world's preconceived
opinion. Not so my father, who believed that altitude in start
would be conducive to prolonged flight, oblivious to the fact that
not every year or century can turn out a Tom Erskine. My
progenitor was of far-reaching ideas

and comprehensive grasp, but withal somewhat visionary in
evolution. I once laughingly told him that if he had anticipated
Fulton's great problem, he would have required a new born
ocean-liner to demonstrate its utility. That perhaps was a
fraction far-fetched as well as unfilial; but still I believe that he
had a lurking hope of springing a full-fledged jurisconsult before
the eyes of an astonished world by favor of adventitious
beginning.

Feeling myself wofully handicapped from the start in being
thus entered unheralded in an arena of world-known legal
gladiators, it was not calculated to inspire confidence, but still
feeling a well-grounded reliance at bottom of being reasonably
well posted in the rudiments, I strove on in the hope that
Erskine's opportunity might repeat itself in order to show the
world what a mass of erudition and legal light was being hidden
under a bushel. All speculations on that score, however, were
brought to an abrupt conclusion of self and friends, supported by
high medical authority, that my mundane career was about to be
brought to a sudden termination by a brief winter's sojourn at
the Federal Capital, which was confirmed a few days later by
the celebrated Dr. Stone, of New Orleans, who prescribed
horseback, ten-pins, and active out-door exercise generally, to
the exclusion of drugs, nostrums, and medicated cure-alls of
every kind.

Believing that he knew what he was talking about, I took the
first boat for Shreveport, bought a horse and began an extended
ride through Texas, which with the branch-offs to the right and
left covered according to note-book at the end upwards of
1,500 miles, and consuming nearly two months in making it. The
first two or three days out were slow progress, scarcely
averaging fifteen miles a day, owing to weakness and physical
breakdown. In fact, had it not been for Dr. Stone's forecast to
that effect, it is probable that after the second day I would
have gone back, laid down,

and died. But pride was aroused and I kept on, soon
overlapping thirty or forty miles a day with less and less tax on
the powers of nature. Later on I told the dear old gentleman,
whom I have since regarded as one of the brainiest of his
profession, and despite his rough speech and at times uncouth
mannerism, one of the best of men, that nothing but that
prediction kept me in the saddle with face to the setting sun,
and thus saved a life of but little intrinsic value. To the end of
his, we were friends and cronies whenever chance brought us
together. Perhaps identity of political faith had something to do
with cementing the tie. Though born and reared in the heart of
New England, it was not in him to espouse the political opinions
of that dogmatic section. He had well-matured convictions of
his own in diametrical clash to his immediate surroundings.
'States-rights and Strict-Construction' was the shibboleth of his
creed; Jefferson and Calhoun its exponents.

It was a bleak and dreary ride with not a traveling
companion a mile of the way, and most of the distance not the
sight of habitation between the morning start and the evening
let-up. The unvarying bill of fare was substantial, but grew to
be slightly monotonous after the first month, namely, corn bread
and fat middling drowned in its own gravy (so called) and a
bowl of coffee black as Tartarus, sans milk, sans sugar, and
almost sans the berry that gave it name. Still, knowing that it
was the daily diet of the entertainers, the invariable charge of
one dollar for man and beast was paid after breakfast without
cavil or complaint; but the thought forced itself, why, in a
country replete with game and the streams with fish, and no
scarcity of cows in milk with fattening calves attendant, can
there not be a little diversity in the menu by way of variety?
Reckon they never thought of it. Still, a good appetite after a
long day's ride rarely failed me at table, and perhaps that was
one of the most efficacious

ingredients in old Stone's prescription. Be that as it may, at the
journey's end I had left an ugly graveyard cough far in the rear,
and was some twenty pounds plus in avoirdupois. The recipe is
given for the benefit of others like inclined, or rather
predisposed.

But despite the monotony of the journey, there were
occasional interludes of variety, amusing it may be to the
reader, if not always agreeable to the writer, or rather the rider.
A few such episodes are given by way of variety.

One day about noon I watered and staked old Jim, ate the
usual lunch of fat bacon and corn-dodger, stretched out and
took the usual hour's siesta, saddled, and resumed the road. Let
it be premised, it was a cloudy day. Towards the close of it,
half familiar landmarks began to appear in view, and soon the
countenance of my late host was seen over the fence. Then the
awful truth became manifest that the mid-day nap had lost a day
by turning me on the back track, and cost me a laugh.

Jim was an equine of unusually amiable traits, but he was not
cut out for the cavalry, for he had an unconquerable aversion
to the detonation of fire-arms, and a jaw that a Mexican curb
could scarce control when once aroused. I had a kindred
aversion to rattlesnakes, and whenever I came across one of
the vile creatures coiled up and sunning himself on the roadside,
the temptation to try a shot was too great to be withstood. On
the instant, 'James' was off like a cannon-ball, and lucky it was
if he could be brought to a hold-up under a mile. Then followed
a more deliberate ride on the retrograde to recover lost
possessions, a hat here, an overcoat beyond, next a saddlebag,
and perhaps Jim's obnoxious revolver near the starting point.
After two or three runaways for like needless cause and
provocation, I came to the conclusion that the game was not
worth the cartridge, and did my best to call a truce by
withstanding temptation, but it took time to

eradicate a settled conviction in the head of that idiotic
quadruped, namely that rattlers got in the road on purpose to be
shot at, and so, for a long while, he was off as soon as he
saw or scented one of the vile things.

A couple of days later on, Jim's pyrotechnic nerves were
near being tested on larger and ignobler game. After a
lonesome day's ride with scarcely a cabin in sight on the route,
I struck a fence enclosing an improved plantation. My mouth
watered at the prospect of anticipatory good cheer for the
night, and suitable the time and occasion for just about that time
an 'incipient 'Norther,' as it seemed, put in an appearance,
accompanied by the most terrific rainfall that I have ever
known, with one exception and that on the Nile, where a drop
of water was reputed not to have fallen for seven years
antecedent. Commend me, or rather commend some other, to
those arid lands where it rains only with the advent of the
census taker.

Following the fence for a mile brought me in front of a neatly
framed house, whose piazza was almost on the road. I had
heard of a drowned rat; I felt like two, with icicles trickling
from collar to boots. Almost without waiting to ask permission I
proceeded to dismount, and then came the ominous veto: 'Don't
get down; you can't come in.' Almost dumbfounded with
surprise and indignation, I reached over and unbuckled the right
flap of the saddlebags, and proceeded to read the cur a moral
lecture, more emphatic than unctious, on the recognized laws of
hospitality. Before the lesson was well under way, he
remarked, with a profane prefix, that he had heard enough and
that I had better move on, adding, by way of stimulus, perhaps
that double-barrel behind the door may expedite your
movements. Now that, under the circumstances, was more
than my grandfather, 'the man of Uz,' who was reputed one of
monumental patience, could have borne without losing his
equanimity. It can not be

truthfully alleged that I, who came by descent into possession
of much of that commendable trait, preserved it unscathed
under such a threat with preliminary provocation. I was mad
from the start, and kept on getting madder until he dared this
cowardly bombast.

Then he was admonished not to move out of his tracks until
he heard a homily on courtesy and good breeding, under penalty
of never laying hands on a double-barrel again. Am glad to say
he heeded the fatherly counsel thus given, and so obviated the
necessity for a more heated altercation. In response to his
platitude that a man's house is his castle, as much was
graciously conceded, but a counter claim was interpolated,
namely, that the king's highway is common to all men, and for
the time I held the highway. The use of the ambiguous term
may have induced the belief on his mind that he was having to
do with one of Dick Turpin's sort. Be that as it may, it gladdens
an old man's heart to report that the claim to respective
suzerainty was mutually acquiesced in. During the interesting
colloquy Jim was remarkably quiescent for one of his restive
nature, and seemed to say as plainly as a horse could say 'If
you would like to take one shot at the thing, old man, I'll try and
stand it.'

A mile or so further on we reached an unpretentious cabin,
whose occupant was an inborn gentleman. He put me in front
of a rousing fire, gave a drink of new corn whiskey to thaw me
out, went out and groomed Jim, and then came back and did the
same for me, rubbing me down in no gentle currycombing, for
well he realized that I was on the verge of physical collapse.
Then he wrapped me up in his old overcoat, made me take
another stiff drink of the best tipple he had to offer, and then
ushered me into the next room, where I sat down to the most
enjoyable meal that has ever passed the lips of man, and that is
a no small compliment from one who has since eaten hash at
many of the most renowned

hostelries on the civilized globe. Imprimis, a queenly welcome
from the lady who had prepared it, then a venison steak
properly gotten up, supplemented with biscuit, fresh butter and
buttermilk, and to cap the climax, a cup of good honest hot
coffee with concomitants of milk and sugar. Rest assured that,
like 'Dalgetty of Drumthwacket,' full justice was done to a
spread like that after a month of unwelcome deglutition. That
dear dame had evidently spread herself on that get-up, and I
have loved her ever since, platonically, for doing it. It was
evidently designed as a pure charity entertainment to a half
frozen, half drowned, half starved poor devil, who had been
unexpectedly cast upon their bounty. They were people who
had evidently known better times, but, better far, knew how to
adapt themselves to the reverse of fortune.

While discussing his neighbor's contemptible conduct over
the after-supper pipe, I remarked that I offered to bet him ten
dollars to a postage stamp that he wasn't born and bred in our
Southern regions. "And you would have won the wager if he
had taken you up," was the reply, 'for he saw first daylight
nearer the St. Lawrence than the Potomac." A good night's
rest, a hearty good-morning, and a good breakfast, gave me a
morning start in a good humor, enhanced by the parting
injunction - "Call again and stay longer, whenever you are in
these parts."

Falling into a meditative mood, I said: Why the antipodal
dissimilarity between these two men living within a stone's
throw of each other, the one churl, pure and simple, and the
other the chevalier, fresh, refined, from nature's mould? The
answer came: the better kind, like the poet, is born, not made;
the baser sort is ubiquitous and ever reaches his legitimate level
in spite of birth and fortune. Here in this sparsely settled
country was illustration. But there is too much thought wasted
on the churl.

town of San Antonio, destined to be my abiding place for many
months thereafter, most of which was agreeably, if not always
profitably, spent. Even at that early day, it gave promise of soon
becoming what it has since attained to, a populous and elegantly
built and beautiful city, in place of the straggling village of a few
thousand inhabitants, as it then loomed up. Still I do not think I
would enjoy denizenship within its gorgeous borders now, as
then, when composed in the main of modest two-story
structures and Mexican adobes.

It was then the most unique, whole-souled and interesting
place that I have known before or since, and like an honored
avuncular of mine, some three or four generations anterior, Natt
Macon by name, I have never taken much stock in big towns,
holding with him in an expressed opinion in Congress, to all
intents, that they foster a greed of pecuniary gain conducive to
selfishness and subversive too of patriotism and most other
heroic virtues, and thanking Heaven that he represented a State
that was not blessed, or cursed, accordingly as viewed, with any big
towns. Query: Does that fact account for his State having the
lowest criminal record up to the war, and the highest war
record for the four years to follow? Or may not those two
blessed deterring agencies, the gallows and the whipping-post,
have had a hand in the first, and inherent love of liberty, due to
pure and unmixed cradle milk from Anglo-Saxon fount, have
had much to do with the last statistically established fact? But I
am anticipating. To come back.

This primitive town, even then surpassing in natural
attractiveness any within memory's recall today, was suggestive
of and conducive to the Italian's 'dulce far niente' or Lethean
dream life. Mere respiration in such a climate and such
surroundings was such a luxury that it was prone to make one,
and especially one barely out of the jaws of the

grim monster, supremely oblivious to all sublunary things
beyond. The two chiefest charms of this ideal spot were the
San Antonio and San Pedro Rivers, two lovely pellucid streams,
having their source a short distance above the town from
immense springs, and rushing through it almost with the velocity
of mountain torrents. The population was of a heterogeneous
type and varied character, running through all gradations, from
the lowly 'greaser' to the refined and cultivated gentleman, with
the intermediate interstices filled in with a motley crew of
professional horse thieves, swaggering ruffians, and riff-raff
generally, whose constant study seemed to be to bully their
betters, as far as a discreet regard for their own precious
carcasses would permit them to go; a class sui generis.

One of this last-named sort had attained to State celebrity in
the annals of crime and blood-thirstiness before my arrival. His
name, unless mistaken, was Bill Johnson, and he enjoyed the
enviable repute with his fellows of having killed seven men in
street brawls before reaching the voting age. Bill was a hero in
his own conceit and proud of his early acquired honors and
incipient fame, as subjoined illustration will show. It is almost a
verbatim sketch of a preliminary trial in which he was the
principal party and I an interested looker-on. It was so unique
and peculiar that it is reproduced in full as to essentials.

It took place in the court-house in Seguin. The charge was
petit-larceny, brought by a little Irish bar-keeper, who alleged
that Mr. Johnson had made over-free with his 'till.' "Have you
counsel?" the magistrate asked. "No, and I don't want any,"
was the impudent reply; "I always attend to my own law
business." Continuing, he added with insolent bravado, walking
about the bar in his shirt sleeves, "This is not the first
time, your Honor, that I have had to stand trial
at the bar of my country; but I am proud to say, it is the

first that I have ever been called upon to answer contemptible,
lying charge of that dirty Irish rascal. Heretofore, it has always been for
killing my man in fair and honest fight. I have laid out seven of
them, and there stands the eighth, as soon as I am out of the
clutches of the law."

"Sure, and it's meself will look after that," was Pat's cool
rejoinder. That night a revolver was emptied into Bill's sleeping
apartment in the county's free boarding-house; but the fellow's
time had not yet come. The next night he was out and off
again. A few weeks later he "laid out' his number eight (not
Pat) in Waco, and the citizens concluding that he had had his
full complement of fun, tied a rope around his neck and dropped
him out of second story window, and so final exit of this
unmitigated young demon.

Another incident, a little later on, showing the efficacy of
assertive right in checking unsanctioned wrong, and I give the
go-by to the whole brood of law-breakers of the most villainous
class, believed to be an organized gang of murderers, horse-thieves,
etc. Indictments, arrests, and legal trials, were regarded
by the culprits with comparative indifference, knowing the
saving grace in packed juries with one or more of their pals
ever in the panel.

Such was the state of affairs at that time, when the
correspondent state followed, usually termed self-protection.
Events had culminated to the point of clash, law or
no law, and none of our blood can doubt, when reduced to that
fine point, what the rendition of verdict would be. Immunity
from control had made the law-breaking class presumptuous
and over-bold, until one fine day they saw themselves
confronted by a published black-list, containing a few score
names of their number, with due caution to keep out of the
corporate limits of the town thence-forward, under penalty for
infraction. The next day about half their number, armed to the
teeth, rode through the streets and with whoops and

yells bade defiance to all authority. The preconcerted signal
soon brought the better elements together, and a squad of
volunteers quickly dislodged them from a house of low repute,
in which they took refuge behind barricades. Four or five of
their number, I believe, paid the penalty of their foolhardiness.
The next morning seven more were found suspended from a
live-oak, just below the town, the coroner's verdict being, "did it
themselves;" probably the most remarkable instance of
infections felo de se on record. Thence on during my stay, at
least, San Antonio was virtually the synonym of law and good
order. Comment: Nothing like drastic remedies for deep-seated
disorders.

In those days it was not deemed a prudent thing for a man to
pay an evening call without his faithful revolver, as I had
reason to know on more than one occasion. But relegating the
class to which reference is had to the rear, I come now to
speak of a different order of beings, men who in the next half-a-
dozen years had made and were making imperishable history.

San Antonio was at that time the headquarters of the
Department of Western Texas, and such a brilliant galaxy of
high-toned educated men and lovely and accomplished women
has rarely, if ever, been congregated in a frontier town of the
same proportions. There was Irvin McDowell, a little later on
Commanding General of the Army of the Potomac, where he
was overmatched and sent to the rear in hot haste, as was his
successor later on, the redoubtable John Pope, of veracious
memory, almost on the self-same spot. John was not a fixture
on the Staff, being engaged at the time in boring wells on the
"Llano Estacado"; but, to relieve the tedium of such dry
monotonous work, he would occasionally run down to the city,
where he was always welcome, owing to his geniality and gift
of gab.

bulletins to the War Office with the grandiloquent caption -
"Headquarters in the saddle," until a witticism of old Jubal Early
made him the butt of both armies. "Old Abe," quoth that man of
emphasis, "must be getting to have a low opinion of our fighting
qualities when he sends down a prefixed fool to whip us, one
who locates his headquarters where his hindquarters properly
belong." Up to that time he had placed General Lee and his army
hors de combat two or three times over, according to his own
reliable reports. The whole North went wild over his marvellous
achievements, and he to well-deserved destruction for trying to
scale an insurmountable "Stonewall," which had mysteriously
appeared to the rear of his "hindquarters." For all that, he was
not a born soldier in the broad acceptation of the term; he was a
fellow of infinite jest, and quaint conceits; probably, the only man
who ever attended his own funeral as a frolic. In his days of
drink and youthful indiscretion, (both of which he bravely
overcame,) the odd fancy struck him to see how big a mortuary
turn-out his death would call forth. With the assistance of a
brother officer, not exempt from the like amiable weaknesses, all
of the ante-mortem preliminaries were duly arranged and the
corpse and the chief-mourner were duly installed in the hearse,
minus the two boxes, with curtains down, before the other
carriages began to arrive. By preconcert with the final officiate,
the procession began to move on time, and tradition (from which
veracious chronicled facts are collated) doth aver that it was
one of the grandest affairs of the sort ever seen in St. Louis up
to that time, but the line of march set at naught the geometrical
definition of a straight line. Right angles were made every
square or two, for John wanted to see the town and he wanted
the town to see him. After pursuing this zig-zag course for some
time, a halt was called in front of a saloon by the occupants of
the dead-wagon for a little refreshment. As soon as it

leaked out that the whole thing was a sell and a put-up job, the
question was raised amongst the pall-bearers and chief
mourners whether it would not be a pity to spoil such a
beautiful burying ground for the lack of a real dead man or two.
The story continueth that the two funny-fellows came very
near supplying the desideratum, and no small amount of
diplomacy on a matter of fact, old fellow in Washington, to
prevent the removal of two pair of epaulettes from their
shoulders. So ran the story five and forty years ago.

Major Don Carlos Buell was another member of that staff,
and doubtless one of the brainiest of them all. He it was who, at
critical juncture, did the Confederacy most grievous hurt of any
other. It has persistently been claimed by one side, and
generally conceded by the other, that Grant's army was utterly
routed and demoralized when the great Confederate
commander fell at Shiloh at the moment of supreme and
decisive victory, thus devolving the command upon an utter
incompetent, who obligingly called a halt and awaited the arrival
of Grant's indispensable reinforcements during the night. These
under Buell, then a Major-General, duly reported before
daybreak and in a trice undid the magnificent work of the
previous day, turning a glorious victory into an ignoble defeat.
Wellington might have finished his work at Waterloo without
Blucher. The possibility of such an outcome for Grant on the
sequel of Shiloh without Buell is an over-tax on human
credulity, even overweighted as the Confederates were in their
new Commanding General. Weighed by results, it was the most
portentous night march in the annals of war. Imprimis, as given
above, resultant effects, the conversion of the badly beaten
general of one day into the over-towering hero of the next, as
he continues to be, judged by results.

Lieutenant Kenner Garrard, adjutant of the post, as he had
been of the corps of cadets in his graduating, and my

initial year, was one of the finest specimens of physical
development that I have ever seen. Standing bare-foot above
six feet in stature, and duly proportioned, he seemed of a verity
a modern descendant of Mars or Apollo, or a combination by
transmission of inherent traits. His internal organism seemed to
be in entire accord with the physique, suave, grandiose, gentle,
straight, and straighforward. Our relations on the Hudson were
barely of the speaking order; on the San Antonio, they soon
grew into intimacy, owing perhaps to a kindred soul. He loathed
pretension and sham, as I have always tried to do. As his next
friend, I required him to cane his man in public, in order to place
the onus of challenge where it properly belonged, and like a
man he did it, thus reversing an overwhelming popular
sentimental verdict, and better still, eliciting the commendation
and approval of the great war secretary of that day, Jefferson
Davis by name. Hesitancy in decision would have given the
other party choice of weapons, which owing to his mastery of
one was tantamount to one-side shooting. The sequel to the
story is given in the annexed excerpt from General Johnston's
biography of his son, Colonel W. P. Johnston. He became a
Major-General of Cavalry, U. S. A., as he would in C. S. A.,
had he been born a mile southwards.

Albert Sidney Johnston, Colonel of the Second Cavalry and in
command of the Department, Western Texas, was even at that
day a recognized soldier of the highest order of merit. In face,
physique and mental acquirement, rarely matched in his own or
any antecedent age. Mild, modest, gentle and reserved, he was,
to a degree almost phenomenal in one of his transcendent
worth. A fuller synopsis of my estimate of this superb, or to
make it stronger, almost matchless character, was published
twenty-five years ago in the great biography by his worthy son,
Colonel William Preston Johnson, then and to his death, the
President of Tulane University, which is herewith reproduced.

It was my proud privilege to be the friend, or rather to be
repeatedly befriended by such a man as he was. I loved and
revered him next to a father in life, and the admiration grows
continually since his heroic, but most unfortunate and ill-fated
death. I can but repeat as undoubting what was written a
quarter of a century since, that had his priceless life been
spared one brief hour longer the Confederate States would have
taken their place at the Council Board of nations. Almost as
much can be said of the greatest of all lieutenants, Thomas J.
Jackson. If the end of these two irreplaceable men was
ordained above, let us not repine, but who can know until the
dark river is crossed and shadows are commingled.

CHAPTER XI.

EXCERPT FROM BIOGRAPHY WRITTEN BY
HIS SON, COL. WILLIAM PRESTON JOHNSTON.

"General Johnston's influence with young and ardent men
was very great. Two illustrations of this are given by a devoted
friend and admirer, whose terms of laudation I have sometimes
omitted, though I have naturally accepted them as genuine and
just. He was the son of a friend of General Johnston, and
having settled at San Antonio as a lawyer while the latter had
his headquarters there, was at once put upon familiar terms
with him and his family. He says:

"I regard the hours spent with them as among the happiest
and best improved of my life. I have long since recognized that
his interest was purely the result of a desire to guard the son of
an old friend against the temptations of youth incident to a
frontier town. During the two years that I was a constant
visitor under his roof he could not have been kinder or more
considerate if I had been his own son, as the incidents alluded
to will go to show."

The writer goes on to narrate how, a personal altercation
having arisen between an officer of the Second Cavalry and
another person, he was engaged to act as the friend of the
former. Unfortunately the correspondence passed to such a point
that he felt constrained to advise his principal that, in the event
of an anticipated contingency, he must kill his antagonist on
sight, pledging himself to do the same to any other man who
should interfere.

"That night between ten and twelve o'clock, General
Johnston entered his room, and enquired whether he had given
such advice. Before answering, my informant asked General
Johnston whether he proposed to take official action in the
premises. On his replying that he did not propose to

avail himself of his position to interfere officiously in the affair,
he was told that such had been the advice given. General
Johnston then asked whether he had counted the cost and
weighed the possible consequences; and was told that he had,
and that he had advised the course that he himself would have
adopted if principal, though he knew it must lead to a bloody
street brawl. To General Johnston's expressed hope that he
might convince him that his action was, to say the least,
precipitate, he replied, that he feared the task was hopeless.
'But,' to use the language of my informant, 'he did, at length,
succeed, by the mathematical argument of honor and the
inexorable logic of the code, in inducing me to withdraw my
counsel and leave my friend free to act after a plan which he,
General Johnston, suggested. I now know that it was the wisest
and best that could have been adopted, and that by its
substitution for mine I have been saved a lifelong term of
remorse and self-reproach. . . Not for world's now, would I
have had my advice followed. General Johnston was probably
the one man in the world who could have prevented it, and his
arguments were the only ones that could have proved
effectual.' Both of these young men attained high rank and
distinction in the Civil War; the writer of the above in the
Confederate Army and his principal in the Federal Army.

"The other incident occurred at the crisis of the Nicaragua
fillibustering fever, and is narrated as follows by my informant:

"'A battalion was raised in and around San Antonio to go to
General Walker's assistance, and I was waited upon by a
committee to know whether I would accept a command.
Nothing could have been more consonant to my feelings at the
time; but, for some reason, I demanded until the next day
before returning an answer, suggesting, in the meantime, to swell
the numbers by additional recruits.

While that was going on that night quite briskly in the plaza,
General Johnston came along, and, taking me by the arm, asked
me to accompany him out of the crowd.

"'Then turning to me, he desired to know whether it was
true that I proposed going on such a wild-goose chase. On
being told that such was my intention, he replied: 'My young
friend, think twice, and think seriously, before taking this step;
because, in all likelihood, it is the turning point in your life.'"

Admitting that in youth the impulse was natural, and
referring to analogous cases in his own career, he continued:
"The days of Quixotism are past, and with them the chance for
name and fame in all such enterprises as this.

The age is materialistic, and he who goes about in search of
windmills and giants is apt to be considered a fit candidate for
Bedlam.

The question, however, wears a moral aspect, which should
be duly weighed and considered. Is there any material
difference between the filibuster and the buccaneer? Tell me
not of philanthropy as a plea. I say of it as Roland's wife said
of liberty: 'Alas! how many crimes are committed in thy name!'
Beside, if you are pining for adventure, you will not have long
to wait. Liberty and Philanthropy are at work and in a broader
field than yours. Fanaticism will soon bring on a sectional
collision between the States of the Union, in which every man
will have to choose his side. When it comes there will be no
lack of blows, and may God help the right! Then give up your
present project, and wait. Go to Austin and enter on your
profession there. "I will give you letters which will insure you
advantageous business connection there."

By these arguments, here given almost in his very words,
and similar ones, he again induced me to defer my wishes to

his judgment and I have never regretted the decision. The
letters I have now.

"Permit me to say, in conclusion, that I have never known
the man who held in such nice equipoise qualities akin and yet
in a measure antagonistic - the genial and reserved, the gentle
and the grand, the humane and the historic. He would have
gone a day's journey to reclaim an erring brother, and would
have turned out of his path to avoid crushing a worm; and yet
he would have sacrificed his life and all he held dear in it rather
than deviate one hair's breadth from the strictest line of right
and duty.

"There was no cant in his composition, for he was a cavalier
of the straightest sect; but I have never met the man who
combined in himself more of the elements of a follower of the
Unerring Teacher. In his company the humblest felt at ease,
and yet a crowned head would not have ventured upon a
freedom with him. In the course of an eventful life and
extensive travel, I have come in contact with many of the
historic personages of the day; and yet I scruple not to say that
of them all, but three, to my thinking, would stand the test of the
most rigid scrutiny.* Of these by a singular coincidence, the
Colonel and lieutenant colonel of a cavalry regiment in the
United States Army, afterward respectively the ranking
officers of a hostile army, Albert Sidney Johnston and Robert
E. Lee, were two; the third was Mr. Calhoun.

*"'No time-serving or self-seeking entered into their calculations.
Self-abnegation at the bidding of duty was the rule of
their lives. Could our much maligned section lay no further
claim to the consideration of mankind, the fact that it produced
almost in the same generation, such a triumvirate, typical of
their people, is enough to place it among the

* Ex-President Davis being still in the flesh, prevented this number being
extended into a quartette.

fore-most nations of the earth in the realms of thought, honor,
patriotism, and knightly grace.

"Colonel Wharton J. Green, of North Carolina, some
anecdotes from whose pen have already been inserted in this
memoir, in a letter to the present writer says, in regard to
General Johnston:

"'Portray him as he was - great, good, single-minded, and
simple. He was the devotee of duty, but disposed to soften its
asperities to others. His was a character with few counterparts
in ancient or modern story. It has been said that the noblest
eulogy ever written consisted of a single word - 'the just.' All
who ever knew General Johnston will confirm that he was as
well entitled to that epithet as the old Athenian, and, coupled
with it, to another, 'the generous.'

"Talleyrand's saying, 'No man is a hero to his valet,' is true
in the main; but General Johnston would have been a hero to
his very shadow. Those who knew him best admired him most.
His peerless, blameless life was long enough for glory; and but
one brief day, perhaps one hour only, too short for liberty. One
hour more for him in the saddle, and the Confederate States
would have taken their place at the council board of nations."

CHAPTER XII.

One of the most marked and remarkable characters of that
time and section was my honored old friend, "Bigfoot Wallace."
The presumption is that that was not his Christian or baptismal
cognomen, if he ever had one, but it was the only one by which
he was known throughout western, if not all, Texas, and
universally respected wheresoever known.

Peculiar and sui generis he was, above all men that I have
known in life. Uncouth in garb and oft in speech, his simple
word was more than tantamount to hosts of sworn witnesses in
rebuttal. Get drunk he would occasionally, it grieves me to say,
but drunk or sober, he could not tell a lie, or act one either.
Essentially peaceable by nature, there was not a blustering bully
in all those parts who would venture to encroach upon his
inherent rights. Living ten or twenty miles from other habitation,
hostile savages would give his cabin twice that space to shun its
lone occupant, for well they knew by hearsay that in it hung a
score or more of their scalps as witness of his prowess and
unerring aim with the finest make of rifle then known. They
soon learned to regard him as the bearer of a charmed life, as
the wiliest of their tribe laid down theirs to compass it. He was
as foreign to fear as to falsehood, avarice, or duplicity. He was
one of my father's old campaigners, and ever held him in
special regard, which was transmitted to the son upon first
acquaintance.

A distinguished legal friend of the place, Hon. John A.
Wilcox, told me repeatedly that from extended correspondence
with parties in Virginia he was absolutely convinced that "Old
Bigfoot" had a fortune awaiting him in that State, ranging from
fifty to a hundred thousand dollars, only requiring proof of
identity and a few technical formalities to place him in
possession, and yet for the life of him, he could not

induce the bull-headed old fool to go out and take it. Intimating
that perhaps I could succeed better, I tried my powers of
persuasion on old "Bigfoot" but with like result. Here is the
purport of his reply: "Yes, I know it was there, waiting for me to
go and take it, long before Colonel Wilcox told me about it. Why
don't I go and get it? Simply because I don't want it. What use
would it be except to make me miserable? I'm tolerably well
satisfied over yonder, beyond the Medina, by myself. My rifle
and traps furnish all I need for meat, and the peltries my other
little wants, such as powder, lead, coffee, salt, and a little dram
when I run down here every month or two to see you town
fellows. What more does a man require to make him happy?
And yet you and Jack Wilcox, both my friends, would have me
break up a life that suits me and take to one that I hate and
despise. A big house, a big drunk, and a big fool all combined,
with lots of pretended friends as long as the money held out.
Wouldn't I be a pretty d--n fool to make the swap?" I was
compelled to assent. Let others regard him as an unadulterated
fool, to me it seemed then, as it does now, that he had in his
mental make-up many of the essential elements of the true
philosopher - a true copy of Byron's Boone, one of the gems
of true poetry.

Of all men, saving Sylla the man-slayer,
Who passes for in life and death most lucky,
Of the great names in which our faces stare,
The General Boone, back-woodsman of Kentucky,
Was happiest amongst mortals anywhere;
For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he
Enjoyed the lonely, vigorous, harmless days
Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze.

Crime came not near him - she is not the child
Of solitude. Health shrank not from him, for
Her home is in the rarely trodden wild,
Where if men seek her not, and death be more
Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled

By habit to what their own hearts abhor,
In cities caged. The present case in point I
Cite is, that Boone lived hunting up to ninety.

And what's still stranger, left behind a name
For which men vainly decimate the throng,
Not only famous, but of that good fame,
Without which glory's but a tavern song -
Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame,
Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wrong;
An active hermit, even in age the child
Of nature, or the man of Ross run wild.

And so on through four or five additional stanzas. Such was
"Old Bigfoot!"

It was current report about that time that, single-handed, he
once took the trail of a band of hostiles returning from one of
their periodical forays in the white settlements, and after
following it for days like a sleuth-hound came up with and
panicked their bivouac at the dead of night, killing and scalping,
the last a point of conscience with him, three of their braves
and capturing a half grown buck, whom he tied to himself, dos
a' dos, on horseback, and took home with him, assigning as
motive that he needed a young nigger to "tote" wood and water
for him in his old age, but was too poor to buy one. On being
cautioned as to the risk he ran in sleeping in the same room
with a young rattlesnake, he quietly replied: "Yes, I know the
vermins never go to sleep; but I always do with one eye open
and my "bowie" for a bed-fellow." Wonderful to tell, this implied
claim to superiority of race was tacitly admitted by the
improvised "nigger" before he gave Marse Bigfoot the slip and
went back to his own people, probably to exploit his
educational progress in civilization.

The thought has forced itself both then and since that this
simple, confiding soul, who, to my honest belief, had never
done aught to injure either, had himself in early manhood been
victim to over-confidence in man or men, or most

likely to woman, and so in sheer distrust of all had
resolved, from over sensitive and high-wrought nature, to cut
aloof from mankind and betake himself to the wilderness.
Church history leads to inference that if so, he was not the first
to seek heritage under kindred impulse.

A word by way of explanation or apology. It has been
intimated that when my old friend came to town, which was
usually every month or two, he sometimes forgot himself by
taking an extra potation or two during his brief sojourn, but he
never forgot that he was the inborn gentleman that everybody
believed him to be. But once in the saddle, and his face turned
homewards, and after getting there, no powers of persuasion
could induce him to touch the bottle. To all such solicitation, his
invariable reply would be: "No, Bigfoot's got a scalp on his
head, and he's got to keep a level head to keep it there." That
argued that he carried a well-balanced head.

The last I have ever heard of this eccentric, but most
remarkable man, was his presence as an honored guest at a
banquet of his old San Jacinto comrades and compatriots,
almost in the shadow of the Alamo, I think about fifteen years
ago. He must even then have been hunting up to ninety. If,
since then, he has passed over the river into the happy
hunting-grounds beyond, let us trust that he and his life-long
foemen of this side, the Comanches and Apaches, left their
animosities behind them, and are now smoking "the pipe of
peace" together over the river.

Without any intimation to bear it out, it is my belief that he
was a trusted scout of that congenial spirit and highest type of
the natural soldier in all history - Bedford Forrest. It would
have been a suitable culmination for loftiest heroism to have
had Bigfoot for his ferret on the trail and movements of hostile
leaders, whom he utilized as stepping-stones for the attainment
of his heroic ends.

Apropos, an anecdote of that phenomenal leader of heroes,
which comes well authenticated. In Wilson county, already
mentioned, there lived in war-times a worthy old lady by the
name of Whitehead, who, gauged by the Napoleonic standard,
was probably the greatest woman in the world. She had
nineteen sons under the greatest of cavalry leaders, and would
have made the twentieth of the tribe by her own voluntary
enlistment had she not been debarred by age and sex. On being
asked by the parson, on her thought-to-be death-bed, if she
didn't want to meet her Saviour, she replied with honest
simplicity: "Yes, I don't mind to, but I'd rather meet Old
Forrest." That evidenced the hold and confidence he had upon
the people of his State. It has ever since been one of my
regrets that our acquaintance was but casual.

A hunting excursion on which we were together, just before
quitting Texas, calls for a passing notice. Lieutenants
Chambliss and Van Camp, old acquaintances, who were
stationed at Camp Verde, a frontier post some hundred miles
northwest, were in the city for a brief visit on official duty.
They insisted on my returning with them, holding out as
inducement a big hunt and good fishing. Of course, there was
no resisting such arguments. So one fine morning we started
betimes, the two dragoons in ambulance and I in the saddle on
old Jim, of rattlesnake and run-away recall. We were hardly on
the road before Chambliss, who was a superb horseman, began
insisting on our swapping locomotion. Of course, the fear
expressed that he couldn't ride Jim only made him the more
pertinacious for display of his horsemanship. At last, the
wished-for and suitable time for gratifying the young man
arrived. In the dim vista ahead a long dark moving line appeared
in view, like a wounded snake dragging its slow length along, and
sympathy went out forthwith toward that ambitious
cavalryman, for well I knew that it was one of Mr. Secretary
Davis' camel trains returning to the

post with supplies, but Jim didn't take it in, and neither did the
man in the wagon. Waiting for it to come up, I told Chambliss
that out of pity he should bestride Jim for a few hours. Easier
said than done, for that equine kept peering up the road as if
looking for a mighty python, all the time snorting like a porpoise,
and like that would-be amphibious fish, trusting that its name
and attributes are correctly catalogued, making constant and
futile efforts to quit his normal element by repeated plunges into
the one above. "What's the matter with the fool?" came the
inquiry. "He thinks, old boy, you do not know how to ride one of
his mettle." "Well, I'll undeceive him," came the reply, as he at
last got in the saddle and drove the spurs up to the rowel.
"Keep a taut rein, Cham, but give him his head," was my parting
injunction as the noble animal darted off like a Congreve rocket.

Horse and rider had nearly all reached the tail end of the
caravan, united as one, when on the instant came a halt which
came near dissevering their mutually repugnant and enforced
connection. Each was covering himself with glory until such
proximity was reached, and Jim's organs of eye, ear, nose,
brought him to a full and momentous stop. Fortunately, his long
mane saved his upper-story companion from a fall and enabled
the equine to take in a momentary survey of the situation, and
plan his sequent course of action. With a loud snort and a fresh
accession of crazified panic, he darted off at right angles to the
road, and made such time over that prairie as Flying Childers
the Godolphin, or Timoleon, could not have matched over the
same course in their palmiest days. Those uncouth creatures
with jingling bells and waddling locomotion, and their
attendants, no less strange and more weird when singing one of
their monotonous love-songs in chorus, were too much for Jim's
nerves, and hence the sequel preliminary.

In fact after much reflection on the subject, I have come to
the conclusion that that animal was subject to fits of temporary
emotional insanity, as the lawyers call it, and hence was in no
wise responsible for what he did at such times. Chambliss was
evidently of the same opinion, barring the extenuating clause,
and further, that this was a very acute and aggravated attack,
for when Van and I came up with them an hour or two later, he
had dismounted and was reading Jim a moral lecture on
immoral depravity, or vice versa, savoring more of the reputed
emphasis to which our army in Flanders' was addicted, than of
the euphonic modulations of Attica. His last remark of
expostulation that reached us as we came in ear-shot to that
interesting colloquy between him and that hard-mouthed, self-
willed brute,, was, in effect, if not in words, as followeth: "You
are the blankedest blank fool that I ever saw in my life," which
showed that he too regarded Jim as non-compos. In response to
protest against his having overtaxed poor Jim in his mad ride
over the prairie, he replied with acerbity: "Well, unless Van is
fool enough to try him, you'll ride him yourself from here to
Verde. I wouldn't back him again if you'd give him to me as
inducement for doing it."

In due time we arrived at our destination, and were warmly
welcomed by Major Innis Palmer, commandant, then Major by
brevet, and later on a Major-General of "the blue," and his
accomplished wife. Subsequently I rented his lovely home for a
year or two while in Congress. In hot haste a big lump of cold
substance was unblanketed from the wagon. Palmer had a
green vegetable in his garden and the other concomitants in his
closet. Surgeon Smith was as high authority on juleps as on
jalaps, and for long had filled the learned professorship of
intermixture in that quiet, secluded institution. No vile
new-fangled heresies, such as crushed mint, lump ice,
shortage of "poteen," found favor in his eyes

or place in his brew. Like Father Tom, of blessed memory, he
held with autocratic tenacity, "that after the other components
of a hot punch were duly compounded, you add the wather,
and, may it plaze your Riverence, drop of superfluous wather
you add spoils the punch." Perhaps we youngsters, Chambliss
especially, didn't relish that Olympian potation, see N. P. Willis
for origin of the adjective, and North Carolina for its nativity,
after our long, dry, hot ride. A replica, however, failed to evoke
a health to his John Gilpin charger referred to.

One day as we were all sitting on the piazza, one of the
Arabs came up and announced with the nonchalance of a
canine obituary: "Doctor, me kill Yuseff." The tour of inspection
which we made with the Doctor to the camel-yards showed
that the swarthy Ishmaelite was not yet "kilt entirely" by his
numerous and well meant knife thrusts. Whether he lived to see
the sands of Syria again is more than I can say, as we started
on our big hunt next day - big in preparation, but little in
results.

Besides the officers of the post, the party embraced Major
Beall, the paymaster of the department; a man laconic of
speech he was, but far-famed for emphasis of expression, with
a liberal admixture of causticity when excited, as the younger
members of the party soon found out. Two four-horse
ambulances supplied transportation, with an escort of a dozen
troopers at a reasonable distance to the rear, and Bigfoot as
guide and provider of fresh meat. The first day out, near the
ford of a little creek, he rode in and remarked that a big fight
was going on some where near between a king snake and a
rattler. Of course, that had to be investigated as none of us had
ever seen the two in conflict. Although it was fully one hundred
yards off, one of the combatants made such a racket with his
tail in the dry leaves that we were easily guided to the
battle-field. It was indeed a sight worth seeing.

The gentleman of the castanets, an immense fellow, whom we
estimated later on to be over five feet long, was in the death
grapple of his puny foeman, not over half in length, and in girth
about the size of my digit finger, and seemed as satisfied with
the situation, coiled around the neck of his big antagonist,
as a modern mercenary belle might be supposed to show when
hustled about the shirt collar of a spindle-shanked, vacuous
million-dollar dude; or, to amplify the intensity of crushing
devotion, a millionaire title-huntress dawdling over the frills of a
blase Cossack or Italian count, a Dutch, French or Spanish
baron, or a Turkish vizier with three tails and thirty antecedent
spouses. Such attachments are, doubtless, intense until cut
short after closer union in the divorce court, or by the
tongue of scandal. But here was an absolute embrace for life,
on the part of the king-snake at least, regardless of the wishes
of the would-be divorce. Even now I regret to say that a ball
from my revolver involved them both in a common fate, after
enjoying the performance over half an hour. It is my deliberate
opinion in recalling that combat, that the king-snake, man's
self-constituted little champion, ought never to suffer harm at his
hands.

Bigfoot told us that night over our pipes that the most
interesting part of such fights, one of which he had seen, is the
preliminary preparative. "All venomous reptiles," he added,
"have an instinctive terror of the 'king,' while he, regardless of
under-size and weight, like a bull-terrier, the gamest thing that
walks, is all the time on the lookout for a big fellow to knock
the chip off his shoulder, or otherwise provoke hostilities.
Well, one day when after a buck, I heard a rattle near my big
toe and stepped back to shoot the 'critter,' when a little
'king' darted forward and gave me to understand that it was his
fight and he didn't want any outside interference. So I turned it
over to him, and quietly awaited results. I have heard of you
soldier fellows before a battle trying to

get the advantage of 'posish' over each each other before hitting
out, but here was what you call strategy of the native sort,
unlearned from books. It was easy to see that the big one was
badly hacked from the start, as he raised his head about six
inches and kept his eyes on the other no matter where he'd go.
It was no less evident that the 'king' was playing to throw him
off his guard for an instant in order to glide upon him at the
right moment and take him in his deadly embrace before the
other could strike. Finally, after making repeated circuits about
him just out of his reach, now at a dead-march gait, and then
with lightning speed as if trying to make him twist his own neck
off. In due time the opportunity came, and the 'king' seized it
and his big enemy at the same time. You have seen the battle
that followed up to the finish, or rather just before the big
fellow was finished."

That evening our camp was pitched on a little stream where
trout and deer each had the repute of normal habitat, but it
grieveth me to say that neither the vesperal or matutinal board
gave evidence of either. Milk and fresh butter we did have in
abundance, and a bit of quiet and perhaps equivocal fun
supplied by the pay department. Its representative
prognosticated a dearth of catch and kill and declined to go with
us, remarking that Bigfoot had told him that a couple of old
ladies lived hard by, the last on the line of civilization, from
whom he could procure milk and butter; but he had forgotten to
add that they had two large ferocious dogs, their sole
protectors. As the good Major approached the cabin these
bounded out at him, and before they could be called off one had
bitten him through the left hand. Like the true man that he was,
he resisted the natural impulse to shoot his assailants out of
deference to importunities of the poor old woman. He returned
to the camp laden down with the lacteal products that were
showered upon him, but likewise with

ill concealed anxiety for the consequences. Somehow, after his
wound had been cauterized and dressed, and supper eaten,
conversation seemed to take a hydrophobiac turn or trend,
much to the disgust of the man of Uncle Sam's money-bags.
Each had a gruesome story to tell of the dormant vitality of the
detestable microbe, or latent mad-dog germ, keeping quiescent
for months and years before ulterior development. Perhaps that
paymaster did not anticipate time and go mad off-hand. It was a
thoughtless cruel jest, and should not have been indulged. Of
course, though, his madness was only metaphorical. Heaven
forefend that the last kind has ever developed for it has been
my bete noire through life, more dreaded than upas-dipped
arrow, or the tooth marks of a rattler, cobra, or tarantula, a
pitiable admission that - for a born dog-lover.

In due time we returned to Camp Verde, and I, a day or two
later, on to San Antonio, where letters were awaiting me urging
a family reunion for the summer at the White Sulphur Springs,
Virginia.

CHAPTER XIII.

Taking steamer at nearest point, Indianola, if memory is
correct, two days later we landed at New Orleans, and the
next day started up the river on the famous old "Eclipse," which
then eclipsed every inland steamer afloat.

It had been virtually chartered by a gay and rich young party
of Mississippi planters with a corresponding number of young
ladies with their chaperons and fine band of music, likewise on
their way to the White Sulphur. Chancing to know two or three
of the crowd as old University friends, I was soon brought en
rapport with the entire party and the time passed in dancing
and jollity all the way to Memphis, where I had to leave them,
while they kept on to some point farther up the river before
taking rail to our mutual destination. In disembarking an
unfortunate mishap befell me in full sight of my late
compagnons du voyage. Taking a seat in an omnibus already
crowded to repletion, when it turned around, it came near
spilling us all into the Mississippi river after rolling over two or
three times. Perhaps the accident did not afford merriment to
the merry-makers aboard when they saw me emerging from
the buss all covered with mud.

Arriving at the "Old White," I was considerably taken back
on discovering that my father and family had not put in their
appearance, especially as I was on my last ten dollars. I found
a letter, however, directing me to join them at the North
Carolina "White Sulphur," or famous old "Shocco."

After the summer season was over, my father engaged the
famous old Montmorenci, belonging to a particular friend, Mrs.
Mary K. Williams, where the intervening cold seasons were
passed until my wedding day rolled around on the 4th of May,
1858. My bride-to-be was the only daughter of my honored
step-mother by a previous marriage with Mr. John

S. Ellery, of Boston, as I was the only representative of my
side of the house. It was a home affair, and if not a brilliant
one, it was certainly numerously attended, for father,
unbeknowing, had given informal word invitation to all our
friends and acquaintances around about us, and mother had
been busy in the culinary department preparing roast turkeys,
barbecued pigs, etc., so that when the eventful day rolled
around, we saw Warren County roll up. So, if it was not a
brilliant wedding, it was one long to be remembered in old
Warren.

After the ceremony my wife and self at once took the train
for New York, with her cousin, Miss Addie Currier,
accompanying us. A month later we took a steamer, "The
Africa" for an extended tour abroad. After doing, as the
modern phrase runs, Great Britain, France, Germany, Austria,
and Italy, it was determined in family conclave to take in the
land of the Pharaohs, and so we took steamer at Naples for
Alexandria, and on arrival, a Nile boat for the Nile trip, then
something to be talked about, and the most agreeable one that I
have ever passed. The old monuments, tombs, and other
reminders of the long-forgotten past, are left to other and abler
pens.

The day we started there came a down-pour of rain, such as
I have never seen before or since, and the concentration of the
seven years proverbial drought, to which this country is
subjected from the Hebrew boy Joseph down to that identical
day, for I was told before starting that there had not been a
rainfall in Cairo for seven years preceding. As our Nile boat
had been exposed during that entire time to the scorching rays
of a tropical sun, it may be supposed to have leaked. No! leak
is not the word. It poured down as if there had been no sham
protection over our heads, and during the entire day we were
like a pack of drowned rats.

tombs and other monuments of that wonderful ancient land, as
they have been better portrayed by tourists of a previous age
and by guide-books of the present. Suffice it to say, that all of
these were of the cyclopean order, and nothing puny except the
present. The banks were lined with the villages, composed of
miserable mud hovels of the fellahs, scarcely rising to the dignity
of dog-kennels in more favored countries, and all along the shore
could be seen the poor creatures drawing the water with swoops to
irrigate the land.

My crew consisted of fifteen half-clad Arabs, including the
reis or captain; their gibberish was incessant, and with their
monotonous songs utterly unintelligible. Let it be here premised,
that before starting I had observed on the upper deck a pile of
some twenty or thirty bushels of coarse brown bread, and upon
inquiry was told by my dragoman that it was for the use of the
Arab crew. Upon asking what they had to eat with it, the
answer came: "Nile water." And do the poor things never get
meat? "Only when their employers give them an occasional
sheep." As that animal could be bought for only thirty or forty
cents, I directed him to give them one at the next halting place,
and every other place thereafter when we tied up for the night.
"Senor," came the reply, if you do, we will soon be left without
a crew, for in a week the poor devils will eat themselves to
death." Well let us begin at the next tie-up.

On returning from the village, with an Arab leading a full-
grown sheep with one hand and carrying a large kettle in the
other, he told the reis that it was a present to the crew. He
then told me to take out my watch, and see how long it would
take them to eat the sheep. What! You do not mean to say,
was my reply, that they are going to devour it at a single meal?
"Si, senor, and if you had not tasted meat for half a year, you
would probably consume your full share at the feast." Upon
the signal being given, the animal was

killed and stripped of his fleece in a trice and thrown into the
kettle, and shortly after pulled out, and before it was well
cooled off they began tearing off the flesh in great chunks by
the handful and devouring it like hungry dogs. To the best of
my recollection, the performance was over within one hour and
a half from the time the sheep was stuck, and not a vestige of
it remained except the bones. But it was not over yet, for every
one of them, with their faces all smeared with grease, had to
come up and kiss my hand in token of gratitude. This was but
one of a dozen of like votive offerings that cemented our
friendly relations before getting back to Cairo. A dollar
back-sheesh effectually sealed it.

It should have been premised, that before separating seven
of the poor creatures petitioned through fan interpreter for me
to buy them and families as slaves. Surprised at the strange
request, I inquired the motive in preferring it, and this, in
substance was the answer: First, to escape the army, of which
they stand in mortal dread; second, to have a protector; and
next, to have something to eat. We hear that you own slaves in
your own country, and we naturally assume that if you will give
us meat, who are entire strangers to you, every two or three
days, you will do as well or better by us if we belonged to you.
Nothing but dread of the penalty attaching to a breach of the
African slave traffic prevented my closing their voluntary
contract for voluntary life servitude on the spot at a scudo, a
head. After the war, I had a correspondence with the State
War Department, through the Assistant Secretary, Mr. Fred.
Seward, on the subject, and while he admitted that it would
have been no infraction of the slave traffic to have brought
them over as represented, still there was no telling how soon I
might have been required to have retransported them, and so
he advised against running the risk. I thought then, and am sure
now, that it would have been to our mutual advantage had the
trade been consummated.

To show their dread of the conscription, or forced service in
the army about every third young man that I met while in the
land of the Pharaohs was deficient of either their right eye, the
dexter finger of the right hand, or two or three front teeth, each
of which barred the use for fire-arms in the army, and had
been inflicted by their own mothers to keep them out. The horrible
mutilation had reached such a point that Mehemet Ali took a
very effectual way of preventing it in the future by organizing a
corps of lancers who, he jokingly remarked, did not require the
eye to take aim, the finger to pull the trigger, or the teeth to bite
the cartridge. It is needless to say that the foresight of this
illustrious semi-savage had the desired effect.

In due time we reached Karnak, the seat of ancient Thebes,
and spent a week in exploring the place, making our excursions
on the little donkeys of the country. The heat was so intense
that although it was only February, starts had to be made by
day-break, and once upon reaching the necropolis we were
compelled to take refuge in one of the tombs, Benzoni's I
believe, until near sundown before starting back to the boat.
These tombs, by the way, cut out of white calcareous limstone
in the sides of the mountains, and some of them running back
for over a hundred yards, are one of the great attractions of the
whilom hundred-gate city. The grand hall of the great temple
with its one hundred and twenty stupendous columns, each
carved out of a single piece of granite, is another great sight, an
imperishable monument.

Giving the vocal statue of Memnon and its companion of the
plain the go-by, we made preparations for the return of our trip.
Before starting a young English nobleman, Lord Rendlesham, I
think the name, who was traveling with his tutor after leaving
Oxford, and with whom we had got acquainted, came aboard
and said that he was going to return next day, and proposed
that we start at the same hour; and

to make the trip a little more exciting, further proposed that we
lay a wager of ten guineas upon who should first reach a
designated point below, Aziout, unless mistaken. To which,
upon my assenting, he came on my boat the next morning and
handed me the amount lost, proposing at the same time that we
double the bet down to Benisoef, I believe, the next prominent
point below, to which I again acquiesced. On reaching there, I
had to wait an hour or so for his Lordship to come up. Again he
handed me the amount he had lost, and and asked, somewhat in
a spirit of bravado, "Do you dare double the last bet, on first
arrival to some point lower down?" naming it. Upon my
consenting to do so, he requested that we delay the start for a
couple of hours, as he wished to go up into the village for a
short while. Upon his and the parson's return, they had a dozen
new Arabs at their heels. Seeing which, my dragoman advised
me to cancel the last wager, as it was evident he had a relay of
rowers to tire us out. Not consenting to this, I went on board his
boat and gave him to understand that I was cognizant of what
was going on, but would, nevertheless, consent to the last
wager standing - on one condition, and that was that
regardless of winner or loser, it was to be the last bet between
us, which he agreed to. Again he consented, and again I had to
await his coming up.

I should have said that before starting yesterday, I went to
my crew and gave them an insight of the whole matter, praising
their fortitude and endurance, and promising each a scudo extra
if they should win the race, and a glass of Cognac each to
brace them up. To a man, they responded with alacrity, only
requesting, through the interpreter, not to pass the grog until the
old reis went on the upper deck to say his prayers, thus
proving that despite the Prophet's mandate against strong drink
some of his followers are not averse to disregarding it.

he had to write his name on a slip of paper, to be presented at
the bank of Cairo, and so the cost of my excursion on the Nile
was virtually defrayed by a stranger. I do not commend my
example to others, and especially to young men, for I have
always detested gambling, and despised gamblers, but, like
Harry Warrington, I was here betting, as it seemed to him and
to me, for the honor of the country.

Upon arrival in Cairo, I went to our Consulate and was handed
a large batch of letters from home, including a letter of credit
from the Messrs. Baring in renewal. Upon return to the hotel, we
made inquiry for Captain Marshall, formerly of Boston, and were
told that he was quite sick but desired to see me. Going to his
room, he remarked with the languor of a dying man: "I have
been quite sick since you left for your trip up the river, and the
doctors tell me that unless I can get out of the country before the
simoon sets in a week hence, my life will be the penalty, but
unfortunately I am out of funds. Could you, without
inconvenience to yourself, cash my check for fifty pounds ($250)
on Baring Bros., which will be paid on presentation?" As he had
previously given me satisfactory references as to his identity, I
cheerfully acceded to his request, and furthermore asked him if
he would not like to have me sleep in his room on a cot, in order
to attend to his wants during the night. "No," he replied, "no, I will
not put you to that trouble, but if you wake up during the night I
would like for you to look in to see whether I am dead or not."
This I promised to do, and did.

On arrival in Paris, I enclosed his check to the Barings. "No
funds with us, and if he is the man we take him to be, while he
is of a good family he is, nevertheless, one of the most
unmitigated and systematic swindlers on either continent, living
on the credulity of his countrymen." Such I found him to be and
here hold him up to the scorn and execration of the traveling
public as a rogue void of shame and of conscience.

Shortly after arrival in Paris I had ordered a set of expensive
diamonds for my wife, but as the day of departure of the
steamer drew near, not receiving a renewal of my letter of
credit, I felt in an awkward dilemma. The first thing to do was
to wait on the diamond merchants and state the true condition
of the case, adding that I was expecting funds by that mail, and
asking if they could not turn the jewels over to me in London,
offering to pay the traveling expenses of their agent and, if
necessary, the English customs dues. To my surprise and
extreme delight, they made not the slightest objection to the
proposition, but promptly replied that the casket would be
handed to me at my address in London three days from that
time, and free from customs duties, as was done.

Thereupon I telegraphed my old friend Major Leon Dyer, a
retired banker of large means, living in Frankfort-on-the-Main,
requesting him to meet me in London the next day and let me
have a requisite amount, in case of delay in remittance. His
answer was: "Your telegram found me on a sick bed, but I will
join you in London as requested." This he did but was put to
needless trouble, as a letter from the Barings was awaiting me
at my hotel, stating that they had ascertained my identity and
that I could get the amount requested by calling at the bank.
This I mentioned to Major Dyer, but he remarked that he had
taken the needed securities from deposit and that it would be
an accommodation if I would take them at their market value,
which I did and so reported at the bank.

By the way, a word about this good friend and accomplished
gentleman. As a boy he had headed the mob which tore down
Reverdy Johnson's house in Baltimore a few years previously.
Being compelled to fly to escape arrest, he turned up in New
Orleans, and although then a man of large wealth he enlisted in
the army, in order to avoid further trouble with the authorities,
and with his detachment went to Florida in the

Seminole war of that day, where he quickly attracted the
notice of that gallant old soldier, General Gaines, then in
command of that department, who gave him the highest
non-commissioned rank at his disposal. When my father was
raising his brigade in New Orleans for the Texas army, General
Gaines requested him to give him an appointment on his
staff, which he did, and thereby made a fast friend of the young
man to the end of his life, as the following incident will show.

Computing the interest on his advance and likewise traveling
expenses, with a view to making a draft at thirty days to cover
the same, I handed it to him for his approval. "What is this?" he
said. Upon being told, he tore it up, remarking: "I will have you
know, young man, that your father's son cannot pay me interest.
He found me an enlisted man in the army and gave me a
commission, thus giving me recognition among gentlemen, and I
have loved him as a father from that day to this."

He further said that he had brought along a landscape
gardener whom I had engaged on my way through Frankfort,
as his body-servant, as he had to smuggle him out of Germany
because the Franco-Italian-Austrian war was then going on and
all German subjects were liable to immediate conscription.
Shipping him to my commission merchants in New York, I
directed them to express him to me down to Warrenton. This
they did by sewing a large placard on his back. Being at the
White Sulphur with my family, on his arrival my father turned
him over to the 'Duke of Gloucester,' an old beneficiary of
mother's whom she had bought out of charity on the death of
his old master, Dr. Brodies, metamorphosed from a driver into
a gardener. As illustration of the old maxim - two of a trade
never agree - Gloucester was working up in one corner of the
garden, and the Dutchman in another as far removed as it was
possible to be. First

addressing Gloucester, I asked him what he thought of the new
gardener that I sent down to help him. Looking around
suspiciously and putting his hand up to his mouth, he replied
dogmatically: "Marse Wharton, he is the damnedest fool that I
have ever seen. Why, sir, he can't talk; I holloas at him as loud
as I can bawl, and he don't understand a word I says." In
extenuation for Dutchie's colloquial powers, be it said that when
he and I were signing a life contract the previous year, I
voluntarily increased his price $50 a year on condition that he
would never attempt to speak Dutch while on my place. But
came the reply: "I can't talk anything else." "Then keep mum
until you have picked up a little good old-fashioned English." As
a consequence, probably no son of the 'Vater land' ever made
better progress in our expressive tongue than did Heinrich. It
grieved me much at the end of the year to have to cane and
dismiss him, on being told that he threatened to shoot me if I did
not mend my ways to suit him. I heard later on that he had
gotten to be a professor of modern languages in some learned
Northern college. As he claimed to be a graduate of a famous
German University, his dismissal was probably tantamount to
promotion.

It should have been said that before leaving Cairo, we took a
day to run out to Suez to see the spot where Moses and his
cohorts made their famous passage across the Red Sea. In the
middle of the desert, and at a one-room station, a young man,
apparently about twenty, got in the compartment with us, and
spoke to me in orthodox English. On my asking where he was
from and what he was doing out there all by himself, he replied:
"I am from Marengo County, Alabama. When sixteen years of
age my father thrashed me, as I thought without cause, and I
ran away from home; went down to Mobile and shipped before
the mast. On arrival in London I found employment in the
telegraph office, and a

little later on, when it was determined to send a number of us
boys to do service in Egypt, I was selected to fill out the
complement. Shortly after, I fortunately attracted the notice of
the Khedive, who appointed me superintendent of all the
telegraph lines in Egypt." Expressing doubt by a look of
incredulity on my countenance, "Indeed," said I, "and what is
your salary?" "Five-thousand dollars for the first year with a
promise of increase at the end of that time, if my work is
satisfactory." On reaching Suez, he was met at the train by
about a score of young fellows of his own age, who treated him
with the greatest courtesy and deference. My doubts as to the
truth of his story had about vanished. After getting dinner, he
and some of his comrades came around to the hotel to escort us
to the return train to Cairo, on reaching which I ask my landlord
'Who is in charge of the telegraph lines in this country?' "Why,"
said he, "a young countryman of yours who is but a mere
lad." I have frequently wondered what was the future outcome
of that precocious youngster, for that he had a future in store I
did not doubt.

The return trip was far from agreeable, for although there
were double panes of glass on the windows, a heavy windstorm
filled our compartment so full of fine sand that it was almost
impossible for us to breathe. Before reaching the journey's end,
a beautiful gazelle jumped up and went bounding over the sandy
waste. We were ensconced on board one of the O. & P.
steamers bound for Marseilles, after touching at Malta. After
reaching that place, our vessel was ordered into quarantine as it
was claimed it was from an infected port. While waiting, there
was ample opportunity to admire the beautiful harbor, including
the Chateau d'If, from which State Prison Dumas' hero -
Monte Christo - made his incredible escape. The thought of all
was that we were in for a confinement of thirty or forty
days, but we little reckoned

of what was supposed to be an idle boast on the part of an
English Baronet, who was on his way home from his regiment
in India. He persistently said that he would have us admitted to
"Pratique" as soon as he could communicate with the Emperor,
for he added, while the Emperor was in exile in England, he
used to pass days and weeks with me at my country home, and
all who know Louis Napoleon will attest that he never forgets a
friend or a kindness. Most of us had retired when there was a
great uproar on deck, and the cry spread that the Emperor had
admitted our vessel to 'Pratique,' which meant that we could go
ashore whenever we pleased. There was no more jest or ribald
laugh at the Baronet's expense. He had suddenly become a
hero.

With the rising sun there was hasty disembarking. After two
days' stay in that city, we turned face to Geneva where a week
was passed in and around Lake Leman, and then back to Paris,
which was in a state of frenzied French excitement, as the
Emperor was to start the next day to take command of the
Allied Army in Italy. He passed just below our window on the
first floor with his lovely wife, the beautiful Eugenie, by his side,
and the procession halted for a minute, which gave good
opportunity to study his inscrutable face and character. It was
an intellectual physiognomy, and almost prepared me to believe
what the Hon. William C. Rives told me just after his return
from Paris, where he had been serving as the American
Minister at the Imperial Court, that he regarded the then head
of France as the brainiest head in France, if not out of France,
he added. Unfortunate, he doubtless was, but never a weakling.

A few days later we saw Her Majesty, good Queen
Victoria, going in royal state to open a parliament of her great
country. Having previously had, unsolicited, the blessing of

Pio Nono, it may be said that we had seen the three Governing
Rulers of Europe.

A few days later we were on board the "Persia" in the
Mersey (a vessel of 3,000 tons) then accounted the largest
steamer afloat, with one exception. How it pales in the shadow
of the 15,000 tonners of this day. A pleasant company and a
delightful passage home we had. Verily, as Parson Jasper so
forcibly expresses it, "the sun do move," and he might have
added - and so do the earth.

On reaching New York we proceeded the next day to
Boston, where the oldest child, Sarah Wharton, now Mrs.
Pembroke Jones, was born at our country place in Jamaica
Plain on the 19th of July, 1859, whom, when she was a month
old, we brought to our North Carolina home, "Esmeralda," in
Warren County. Everybody seemed glad to see us back after a
fourteen-months absence, and glad enough we were to get
back. We all had had a surfeit of foreign lands and foreign
customs.

The next two years gave unmistakable portents of the great
political storm which was brewing. While every one felt the
gravity of the occasion, few cared to avert it by truckling
submission to dangers more to be dreaded than war. Still our
fields were cultivated, and the social amenities like-wise, as if
not realizing that the brink of revolution was impending. The
summer of 1860 was passed at the White Sulphur, Virginia, and
never was there a larger or gayer crowd at that far-famed
resort. It seems wondrous strange, in view of subsequent
events, that the South should have been apparently so callous.
A strange eventful period it was, on the eve of the most
momentous epoch in the world's history.

For the next few months, the South throughout its borders
was organizing, arming and equipping, for the inevitable
conflict. With scores of others of Warren's young sons I was
enrolled as a high private in the Warren Guards, and

I am proud to be able to state that the gallant company
was one of the first three to report at the camp of organization
in Raleigh. Three companies unanimously expressed their
preference for me for the Colonelcy of the First North Carolina
Regiment, for which I am, and always will be, duly proud and
appreciative. Colonel, afterwards General D. H. Hill, than
whom a braver, more skillful and tactical officer figured not in
the war to follow - a few at the top alone, perhaps, excepted -
received the coveted honor.

Resuming my place in the ranks, I went with the command
down to Norfolk, then daily threatened by overwhelming odds.
While drilling and preparing for the coming clash at Camp
'Misery,' as the boys familiarly dubbed it, news reached me that
I had been designated by General Henry A. Wise to be a
colonel in his Legion, as then known. The appointment was not
only unsought but entirely unexpected, yet nevertheless
appreciated, for regarding General Wise as one of the foremost
political thinkers of the time I was simple enough to give him
the credit of being a great incipient soldier. The outcome, like
that in many other political appointments, proved the prognostic
to be rather illusory.

But straighway getting my discharge from the twelfth North
Carolina Regiment, I set to work to raise one of my own. The
last official act of North Carolina's initial great war Governor,
John W. Ellis, was to give me an order for seven hundred and
fifty Enfield rifles, the only ones that remained in North
Carolina, if not in the Confederate States, and, of course, their
possession was much sought by companies throughout the
State. I soon had seventeen tendered me from which to choose
my ten, but while organizing at the new fair grounds in
Richmond, news came that his successor, Henry S. Clark, had
arbitrarily taken my guns and given them to another. The
announcement fell like a thunder clap,

for there is no concealing the fact that his action was a death
blow to my fondest aspirations. There was no resisting the impulse
of going to Raleigh and telling him, face to face, what I thought
of his high-handed act. This was done in his office, in language
more emphatic than diplomatic. Thereupon appeal was made to
the Legislature for the redress of the grievance. Not having
other guns to give me to supply the place of the Enfield's taken,
that body unanimously voted me $50,000 to purchase arms
wherever they could be found. The finding, unfortunately, was
the chief difficulty, for they could not be found.

Resolved, however, not to be kept out of the unpleasantness
by the want of shooting utensils, I at once set to work to supply
the deficiency with double-barrel guns. Fortunately, glorious old
John Letcher, the then war governor of Virginia, came to the
rescue and gave me an order for three hundred old-fashioned
flint-lock muskets, which were quickly altered by the
Government into percussions. So that, if we were not armed
and equipped after the most approved fashion, we,
nevertheless, had guns that would kill, and trusted that after the
first battle our friends, the enemy, would supply us with better. I
am proud to say that there was no higgling or complaining on
the part of my gallant command on the score of indifferent
equipment, and furthermore that, after supplying each man with
a warm overcoat, over one-half of the amount advanced me
was later on returned to the State treasury.

Before the regiment was completed, I was ordered to
Wilmington to await the arrival of the other three companies,
having only seven, numbering in the aggregate about seven
hundred and fifty men. The accomplished gentleman, General
Anderson, was in command at that place. Shortly after arrival I
received a long, rambling letter from General Wise, telling me
to report at once with my command at Roanoke

Island, as he was convinced that that would be the next point
of attack, Hatteras having already fallen. On asking General
Anderson when I could proceed to obey the order, he replied:
"If you attempt to do so at all, I will put you under arrest.
Inasmuch as you came to me by direct order of the Secretary
of War, no less a power has any right to diminish my force by
taking you away." I then requested permission to dispatch my
next in command, Major Mark Erwin, to Richmond to get the
requisite permission to move at once to Roanoke Island. His
reply was: "Yes, Major Erwin can wait on the Secretary of
War in regard to the matter, but he will take my protest against
your being moved away from here, as my force is totally
inadequate as it stands." I then asked him if I might not prefer a
personal request to the War Office, to go as directed by
General Wise, to which he assented.

On the third day Major Erwin returned from Richmond with
an order from the Secretary to proceed at once to the
designated point. Breaking camp on Masonboro Sound, where
we were stationed, we proceeded at daybreak the next morning
to Wilmington to take a special train to Weldon, which was as
far as could be supplied. Arriving there, I was under the
necessity of impressing transportation to Norfolk, where we
reported to General Huger who assigned us quarters, remarking
that it would probably be a day or two before we could
proceed, owing to the scarcity of transports. On the second day
we did, the General cautioning me to keep a sharp lookout on the
captain of the tug, as he was suspected of being in sympathy
with the enemy, and might give me the slip and run over to Fort
Monroe and impart dangerous information. To keep him in
touch and my eye upon him, I went on board the tug with
Lieutenant B. P. Williamson, now of Raleigh. About midnight
on the night of the 7th of February, while

a cold drizzling rain was in progress and the waves running high,
he rushed into the cabin to tell me that the enemy's boats were
approaching, having previously called a halt on the pretext that
he had lost his bearings, was in shallow water, and was liable to
run aground at any minute, advising me to anchor where we
were until day-break, and pledging himself to land us on the
island in three hours thereafter. His fright, real or pretended,
called to mind General Huger's caution to keep an eye on him,
and I exclaimed: "Yes, you traitor, and you have signaled them!"
As I said so, he jumped to the door and made a hasty retreat
around the side. Grabbing my revolver, I started in hot pursuit,
resolved to shoot him as soon as within reach. He rushed into
the pilot house, and pulled the door after him as I grabbed the
knob to pull it open. I, fortunately for him, stepped on a round
stick of wood and fell backward into Croatan Sound. The night
was dark as erebus, the waves running high, and to make
matters worse, I had on a thick blanket overcoat and a pair of
heavy alligator shoes into which I had hastily pushed my feet. It
seemed as if there was no escape, and no bottom to the water.
Rising to the surface I dropped my revolver and kicked off my
shoes as I looked around to catch a glimpse of the little steamer,
but not a sign of it could be seen as I had ordered all lights to be
put out on it and the seven transports in tow. Then came the
rapidity of thought, of which we are told, in a moment of
extreme danger. Reasoning that inasmuch as I went over
backwards, the boat must needs be in the opposite direction, I
struck out at haphazard to try and reach it, and was just about
exhausted as I did. Throwing up my hands, I barely managed to
get the first joints of my fingers over the sides, but was utterly
unable to pull myself aboard. Calling for help, the man whose
life had been saved by the mishap, came to the rescue and took

hold of both my wrists, after inquiring spasmodically
where was the revolver. On being told it was at the bottom of
the ocean, he still evinced no intention of pulling me aboard.
Convinced he was debating in his own mind whether to drown
me or not, I called to Williamson: "Hurry there, as that Yankee
dog is about to drown me!" Of which purpose he disclaimed the
slightest idea. Getting me on deck, he exclaimed, "There is no
cause for alarm, Colonel, for they are Confederate boats."
Upon asking how he knew, he replied - "They are burning
wood, instead of coal," as proved to be the case when some six
or eight little gunboats passed within hailing distance, but
showed no disposition to stop or to heed my appeal for a pilot,
when told who I was and my condition.

The thought has more than once obtruded itself since, was
the mishap a providential interposition or otherwise? It
probably protracted the creature's worthless life, and saved me
a lifelong term of self-reproach, but cost the young government
millions of dollars in invaluable stores and munitions when the
evacuation of Norfolk began, as he then deserted on his little
boat and carried the much coveted news to the Fort, which
necessitated the loss by fire or capture of said stores. Still, it
would have brought misery home to have shot him under
premature misapprehension.

As I learned afterwards, they kept on to Elizabeth and
burned their boats. After drawing off and begging or buying a
pair of old shoes from one of the men, I was delighted to see
daylight appear, and immediately got under way, reaching the
island in the time the fellow said we would. Throwing the
horses overboard to swim to the shore, the men jumped in and
waded out, when ammunition was at once distributed,
preparatory to my reporting to General Wise, as was supposed,
but he was over on the mainland at Nagshead, while Colonel
Shaw, of the Eighth was in immediate command.

lost. Asking how many men had been killed on our side, he
gave a ridiculously small number. Upon my asking him if he
was going to surrender the most important point on the
Atlantic Coast and send in such an insignificant mortuary list, he
replied: "What do you advise?" I then told him I had seven
hundred and fifty fresh troops just landed, and pledged myself
to hold the advancing foe in check if he would collect the
scattered troops and come to our assistance, which he
promised to do, and sent Major Webb as guide to point out the
road that they would be likely to come on.

Before proceeding a half mile we came in full view of their
advanced regiments, which were driven back on their main
support, with heavy loss, as we later learned, and the Second
Battalion in that brief space sustained a heavier loss than any
other regiment had in the two days' fighting. While in the line of
battle awaiting their return, and looking backward in expectancy
of the promised succor, Lieutenant Colonel, afterwards
Governor, Daniel G. Fowle, went by at a furious pace, waving a
white rag and bawling back, "Don't fire any more, the island is
surrendered!" Indignant at the needless loss to which I had been
subjected under the promise of reinforcements, I marched my
command back to headquarters and demanded permission to
return to my boats with a view to escaping to the mainland. The
reply came: "If you do so, it will be at your peril, as I have sent
word to General Burnside that the island and all on it was
surrendered to overwhelming odds."

A few days later with all the other troops on the island, we
were marched on board the steamer "Spalding," to be carried,
as was supposed, to Fort Warren in Boston Harbor, but
General Burnside, whom I have ever found a courteous
gentleman, determined to keep us there in the hope of inducing
his government to consent to a release on parole until

Just before leaving the camp a laughable incident
occurred at my expense. My body-servant Guilford, who had
belonged to me for years before, and has been with me ever
since, began blubbering on a high key. In reply to the question
of some of the Federal officers: "What are you crying about?"
he said: "You are taking Marse Wharton off to jail where he
will have to take care of himself, and the Lord knows that he
never did know how to take care of himself." A few days
after that he was a party to an exchange, probably the first and
last in which two of his race participated. Burnside coming on
board one day, sent for me, remarking: "Colonel, your negro
man is bothering me to death to let him go with you to prison,
and to get rid of him I have brought him over with me and turn
him over to you. I will take it as a favor if you will induce your
War Secretary to give me up mine, who was captured at Bull
Run." The arrangement was duly effected. I venture to give
another anecdote of this faithful servant and devoted friend,
who was afterwards captured with me in the wounded train on
the retreat from Gettysburg. After General Burnside had
returned to shore, Guilford requested me to move to the rear of
the vessel out of earshot of others, which was done. Coming
up, he looked around suspiciously to see that no one was near
by, and then began mysteriously: "Marse Wharton, I have a
piece of information that might be of great service to our folks if
you are exchanged before going to prison." He then proceeded to tell
me that the day before, on his daily visit to the Commanding
General to press his request to be allowed to go to prison with
me, the latter said he couldn't see him then as he was busy, but
to come back later and we would hear what he had to say.
Then the following: "As it was rather warm I took a seat on the
ground, at the back of his headquarters,

and soon saw a number of big generals coming up and, as I
supposed, entering. My curiosity was aroused to know what
was going on, so, shutting my eyes as if asleep, I kept my ears
open and on the stretch, for I soon gathered that it was a
counsel of war, as I believe they call it, and were talking about
where to strike us next. General Foster, as I took him to be, was
for moving on Norfolk at once and taking it on the land side,
while their ships should make a pretense by water from Old
Point. All the small-fry generals thought that a good plan, but
General Burnside upset it, when he up and spoke and said:
'Gentlemen, we have got to starve these people into submission,
and here's how I think it can be done. Eastern North Carolina is
the corn-crib of the so-called Confederacy, and if we hold the
key, they cannot get into it. Therefore, my advice is, let us take
Newbern and hold it as the base of operations.' It is needless to
say his counsel prevailed." Commending him for his connected
story, I told him that when we were sent home on parole, as
was now pretty well settled would be the case, my hands and
tongue would be tied, but that his would not, and gave him this
command: "When you get to Norfolk, call on our old Colonel,
Sol Williams, of the Twelfth, and repeat to him in confidence
what you have told me, and ask him to take you to General
Huger and vouch for your reliability; or if he is not there, to our
old Captain, Ben Wade, of the Warren Guards." This was done,
and General Huger praised him highly for his report, saying that
he would send it at once by special messenger to the War
Office. I am unadvised if this was ever done, but do know that
the battles at Newbern and above were fought a few days later
on. He passed into my possession by purchase from my cousin,
General M. W. Ransom, who he has ever believed, and will die
believing, was the biggest man that ever set foot in our State,
"always excepting Marse General Jackson, who everybody
knows was the best judge of good horses, good

hounds, game cocks and game men, that ever lived, Marse Jeff
Davis, Marse Robert Lee, and General Forrest, coming next."
Such was the report given long afterwards by one of the best
men that ever lived in the world, Dr. Frank Patterson, as the
two old night owls would sit over the midnight camp fire
discussing men, measures, and metaphysics, when the rest of
the camp would be wrapped in slumber. It is needless to say
that his pre-eminent hero was not he of the foot cavalry, but the
one of the cotton bales, both being of kindred taste and
proclivities, that is, he and Guilford. The champion of the valley
would never be accused of any or either of the enumerated
weaknesses, always barring the last, for he ever held in highest
admiration game men, especially if they were fleet of foot on
the approach of a fight. Therein 'Hickory' and 'Stonewall' were
in such close touch and unity of accord, that they might easily
have been confounded as double first cousins, owing to the
identity of family name and the significance of nickname.
These and other striking traits in common were so marked that I
can't help believing that they must have had a close common
grand-father in the 'ould country.' Observe, a common
nationality and a common religion, hard-shell, hard fighting,
imperious, self-willed Presbyterians, both as brave as Cæsar,
as alert as the leopard, but self-restrained self-counsellors,
each permeated by the same instinctive love of fight that
possesses the bull-dog or the game-cock, but holding native
instinct in subordination to reason, both imbued with the same
sublime love of truth, respect for women and love of children,
and utter detestation for falsehood, hypocrisy, or double-face. I
tell you, gentlemen, that these two great soldiers, sagacious
citizens, and good men, must have been close akin. God shrive
the sins of each, and bless them both. Selah!

To recur to the transfer of ownership, let it be said that
it was the outcome of simple charity on both sides. He had,

inadvertently, fallen in love with Melissa, my wife's dressing
maid and needle woman, and as the two plantations lay in
separate counties, it was a more difficult feat than Leander's
for man and maid to get a glimpse of each other until the
Gordian knot was cut in manner stated, and eight or ten grown
up and well-to-do children attest the honesty and sincerity of
their devotion through near half a century. By such change of
proprietary possession, a faithful servitor and devoted friend fell
to my lot, while my honored kinsman could but feel well content
that he had received as equivalent the biggest purchase money
in all probability ever paid for 'the brother in black' in our State,
if not in any other.

Another little anecdote illustrative of the fidelity of some of
that race, and which has its humorous as well as pathetic side,
and we pass on. Major Erwin had as attendant a strong able-bodied
man as black as the ace of spades, who had been raised
with him, and who held him in heart love and proof against
wrong or ill doing. Reaching Norfolk in a drenching rain on our
way to the island, we found an aide of the General awaiting to
pilot us to our quarters. The Major was exceedingly sick, and I
told him to remain on the ferry-boat until I could send down a
conveyance for him. This, however, was unknown to faithful
Jason, who, when he saw the command moving off, concluded
that "Marse Mark" was being left, and wouldn't be able to take
part in the approaching fight. So, shouldering him bodily, he
came trudging on with his load of love and duty at the rear of
the column. After the surrender, Jason hit on a novel expedient
for replenishing his master's wardrobe, as will be seen. Just
after reaching Elizabeth City on our return home, and after the
preliminaries of parole had been complied with, Jason, who by
some means, best known to himself, had slipped through on one
of the exchange transports, beckoned the Major aside, while
unwrapping a newspaper package which he had

carried with fond tenacity under his left arm. "Marse
Mark," he began, "see what I have focht you," as he
displayed a splendid broadcloth overcoat, fresh from the hands
of "Snip," and which had evidently seen very little rough
service up to that time. Anticipating fulsome commendation on
his 'cuteness,' poor Jason was utterly surprised and nonplussed
to hear his beloved master explode in a cyclone of oratory for
which he was State wide famous, modulating emphasis, as
here given.

CHAPTER XIV.

After being duly paroled at Elizabeth City, we took up the line
march to our respective homes as prisoners of war, pledged not
to take up arms again until duly exchanged, Norfolk being the
first objective point to respective destinations, where
transportation was furnished. There we were compelled to
remain in inglorious ease until called to Richmond a short while
afterwards to take place in line again, a cartel of exchange
between the two governments having been agreed upon.

During those days events of greatest moment were
transpiring. Great battles were being fought and won, and great
men dying. Well do I recall my father's coming into my room
one day, and remarking:

"My son, we have won a great and glorious victory in the
West, but it has been a dearly purchased one for us, for the
price we paid for it was the incomparable Sidney Johnston, who
fell in the very zenith of decisive victory."

Like Mr. Davis, my father had a due appreciation of that
illustrious man, and thought that his loss was tantamount to
twenty-thousand men. Apropos, an anecdote which Mrs. Davis
gave to me herself shortly before the President's death:

"My husband," she said, "having heard that General Johnston
was on his way to Texas from California, had grown most
restive and impatient at his non-arrival in reach. Confined to a
sick bed, he had constantly exclaimed: 'Why don't he come,
why don't he come?' Finally, the news reached Richmond that
he had arrived, after incredible hardships in his perilous ride
from the Pacific, in San Antonio. It found my husband on a sick
bed and grown very petulant by reason of anxiety, which was
relieved on the instant by

the welcome news of his having reached our purlieus. For the
next day or two he was exceedingly cross and, as I thought,
unreasonably so, crying out continually: "Why don't he come,
why don't he come?" I was inclined to think it the outburst of
delirium, when suddenly springing up in bed, he exclaimed:
'There he is! there he is! Let him in at once! Why don't you
go and open the door?' Taking in the drift of his thoughts, I
rushed down stairs to the front door, and there stood General
Johnston. His first exclamation was 'How is he? how is he?'
And the next instant he was making his way up stairs, two or
three steps at a time. On my reaching our room, there the two
stood, clasped in loving embrace in each other's arms."

Call it prescience, instinct, or what you will, it was certainly
wonderful that the almost imperceptible footfall on the front
piazza had imparted to his Chief the news of his arrival. He
was at once nominated to the chief command of the
Confederate Army and assigned to the Department of the
West, whither he started after due deliberation and instructions
from President Davis, Bowling Green, I think, being his
destination.

It is now known that his force and resources were totally
inadequate to meet the enemy in his front. Forts Henry and
Donelson fell in quick succession, thus necessitating our falling
back into Tennessee. On reaching Nashville with a remnant of
his improvised force, he found the whole country in a state of
clamor against his retention in command, every one, from the
Legislature down, being in a state of outcry against his being
kept in command.

Such was the condition of affairs as he moved on south to
place the Tennessee River between himself and the advancing
enemy. Such was the condition of affairs whilst reorganizing his
force, when the enemy, under command of

General Grant, crossed the river and halted near the bank, little
dreaming that the fugitive Confederate chieftain would, at
the opportune moment, turn and give him a crushing
blow, as he did, but, unfortunately for the young
government, as the price of his priceless life.

It is now a matter of historic record that the Federal
commander and his cohorts were utterly routed, demoralized,
and in flight, seeking refuge under the banks of the river,
when that unfortunate event happened. The sequel followed,
as a matter of course, when his successor called a needless halt
in the rich camp of the enemy instead of pushing him to a final
finish, as Sidney Johnston would have done had his priceless life
been prolonged for a few brief hours, and as Bedford Forrest
would have done had the command devolved upon him as his
successor.

Before morning of the next day General Buell, with
overwhelming reinforcements, arrived on the opposite bank,
and by sunrise had his command transported over and himself
placed in touch with the lately routed Federal commander. The
result was, as might have been seen, the relinquishment of all of
the advantages gained the day before and a total reversal of the
situation.

Such was the most momentous and ominous event that
transpired in those days of our brief, but enforced, inaction. I
here repeat, as my deliberate conviction, the statement
published by his illustrious son, Colonel William Preston
Johnston, that had he lived for one brief day, aye, an hour only,
the Confederate States would have taken their place at the
council board of nations. Not to have had the honor of being his
successor would I, for one, be willing to shoulder the
responsibility of that extraordinary and needless outcome
sequent upon the fall of that great commander. As President
Davis said to the Committee of the Tennessee Legislature,

that waited upon him to insist upon his displacement as being
unfit for the command: "If Sidney Johnston is not a soldier, God
help us; if so, I am fully persuaded that we haven't one."

During the interim alluded to was fought a naval battle which
may be said to have revolutionized marine conflicts ever since -
the famous fight between the "Merrimac," on the Confederate
side, and the "Monitor," on the Federal. The Confederate
government took an old hulk of one of their war vessels, which
was burned on the evacuation of Norfolk by the enemy, and
improvised it into a rough iron-clad. Even before completed, it
steamed out in Hampton Roads in full view of Fort Monroe and
grappled with three or four naval vessels of the enemy,
destroying two of them - the "Constitution" and the
"Congress," and would doubtless, have inflicted much
greater damage had not a strange looking craft,
at this particular juncture, hoved in sight and compelled a
cessation of the havoc, compelling the other (the "Merrimac,")
to haul off and return to Norfolk.

It was, doubtless, a novelty in marine conflict, that
momentous struggle between these two odd-shaped crafts,
which has left its impress upon all subsequent marine conflicts
from that time to this. But for the opportune, or inopportune,
arrival of the "Monitor," fancy is left in doubt as to what would
have been the ultimate damage that would have been inflicted
by the old 'turtle,' as it was facetiously dubbed, owing to its
unique and peculiar appearance. A short time later on, it was
deemed advisable to blow it up owing to an insufficiency of
water to take it up to Richmond, and thus another of the
fondest dreams of the young government went up in smoke.

On being exchanged and reporting with my command in
Richmond for orders, I was told to pitch camp at Drury's

Bluff, a most important defense point, owing to the precipitous
bank overlooking the James from the south side, and to report
to General Junius Daniel who was in command at that place.
Here I was doomed to undergo another grievous
disappointment, as on the reorganization I was defeated for
command and one of my captains was elevated, for brief
space, to my place.

Returning home, I prepared at once to return to the ranks
resolved to do my duty in some capacity in the mighty conflict.
Before doing so, a strange coincidence took place for me. I
was nominated for the State Senate, and, without counting the
soldier vote, which was cast a day after the appointed
one, was defeated by one vote; but, counting the other, was
elected by some two or three hundred majority. Resolved to
remain in no civic position during the struggle, I voluntarily
relinquished the election to my competitor, Dr. Drake, and
proceeded to Goldsboro to enlist again as a private soldier.

General Daniel, however, insisted upon my taking an
honorary appointment on his staff, preliminary to providing for
me in a more substantial manner. It should have been said that
during the same time an election was held in the old regiment,
for Colonel, the Twelfth North Carolina, and I was placed in
nomination, without my knowledge, and again came within one
vote of an election, making the third time up to then that I had
been beaten by a single vote; the other instance being, as
stated, for the Presidency of the Jefferson Society at the
University of Virginia - a remarkable coincidence, it be
confessed, to have thus lost promotion on three different
occasions by a single individual vote.

During those days troops were moving in all directions, full
of hope and enthusiasm, and long before, the commonest
necessaries of life had run out, to be supplied by that mother

of invention termed necessity. From the Government down, it
was illustrated in full. In the beginning, everything had to be
improvised, from a percussion-cap to a constitution, powder
works and ordnance factories, and those for small arms had to
be gotten into shape on the spur of the moment, and well the
deficiencies were supplied. Homespun was the universal wear
for our women, and they wore it with pride and uncomplainingly,
and never looked more lovely in the eyes of the men. Sorghum
was the only substitute for sugar; all sorts there were for
coffee, with no complaining from anyone. Patriotism and
enthusiasm supplied the place of luxuries.

It was undoubtedly an epoch of the grandest self-sacrifice
for what they believed in that any age or any land ever knew.
Glad I am to have lived in that era and played my little part, for
it was one of glorious patriotic self-sacrifice for opinion's sake.
The remark is applicable only to the Southern contingent, for at
the North never were wants more readily supplied, and in
greatest abundance, thus opening the door to the inconceivable
fortunes and boundless luxuries that have followed in that
quarter.

Shortly after reporting, our brigade was ordered and
moved on to Little Washington, then threatened by the enemy,
camping just below Greenville. The next day General Daniel
and I went down to General D. H. Hill's headquarters.

Be it understood that Little Washington was then in
possession of the Federals and running short of provisions and
munitions, and our movement was to prevent these being
thrown in from New Bern. To do this, we had erected a little
fortification at a narrow point of the river (known as Fort Hill)
to prevent the passage of their gunboats in reinforcing the
town.

Bridges and myself, rode down to see how the garrison
were deporting themselves. The enemy's gunboats, some seven
or eight in number, were lying just out of reach of our little
popguns, but placing us in easy range of theirs, and they were
shelling us at their leisure and to their hearts' content. Up to that
time, however, none of our men had been wounded, but we had
not been inside over ten minutes before one of their large shells
exploded just to our rear and a ten-pound piece of it
knocked me over.

After being carried to a farmhouse a mile to the rear, the
other gentlemen passed me on the return, and General Daniel
promised to send my old surgeon (Dr. Patterson), then his
brigade surgeon, down to look after me that night, which he did
some three hours later. The next morning I was removed back
to headquarters, where I found an indefinite furlough awaiting
me from General Hill, he supposing that I would not be fit for
duty for a long time to come. On reaching home the next day, I
went into ordinary for three or four days, but fearful that the
town would fall during my absence, started back on crutches,
allowing just one week after having left camp, much to the
surprise of my friends.

In the meantime, General Foster had passed our obstructive
point with reinforcements and munitions, thus rendering abortive
the object in view of keeping them out. Each command was
then ordered to return to their respective starting points, Kinston
being ours. Nothing of interest occurred until a combined
movement was made for the capture of New Bern, where the
enemy were entrenched in force. As the country surrounding is
of a low, marshy condition, and there had been continuous rains
for many days anterior, the men were up to their middle in
water most of the time.

By misadvertence on our part, the Federals were able to
concentrate their gunboats and be prepared for the attack,
which was to have been a surprise, and so, like the King of

France and his ten thousand men, we had nothing to do but
to march back again, the difficulty being to find a dry spot
upon which to lie down. General Hill was the only one in the
command who had tent and camp equipage along, and he
kindly invited General Daniel and myself to share it with him,
which was most gladly accepted.

Shortly after, the brigade was ordered to move up to the
Rappahannock and report to General Lee. Daniel, who was an
old West Point friend, remarked to me at dinner:

"It must be close on to a hundred miles between here and
your house. Are you willing to make the journey for the
privilege of staying one night at home, and report day after
tomorrow in Richmond?"

My reply was an immediate command to Guilford to saddle
the horses at once, which he gladly did, as his wife, as well as
mine, was back on the plantation. That afternoon we made
some thirty-odd miles and were kindly entertained by a widow
lady and her daughter, starting the next day by sunrise. We
reached home the next day about dusk, much to the surprise of
all the family, having made, by close computation, ninety-three
miles from the start. My mount was the finest animal that I
have ever seen under saddle, and made his five miles an hour
throughout without breaking a walk, whilst Guilford's was kept in
almost a continual trot in order to keep up. The next morning
we were again on the road for the Warrenton depot en route to
Richmond.

Rejoining the Staff there, we pushed on to Hamilton's
Crossing, a few miles short of Fredericksburg, where the
command lay inactive until the order came to take up the line of
march, for what destination no one knew with certainty, but
some surmised that the Potomac, if not the Federal Capital,
was the point in view. It being the latter part of June, and the
hottest spell of weather that I have almost

ever seen, the troops suffered intensely on the march, fainting
in numbers by the roadside.

On reaching Winchester we were advised that the enemy
were in force at the little village of Berryville, a few miles
farther on, and General Rhodes, the division commander, was
ordered to push on and intercept their retreat. This was near
being accomplished, but the officer in command at that place,
the notorious Milroy, one of the three generals who were
outlawed by President Davis for their brutal and unsoldierly
conduct (Butler and Turchin being the other two), was able to
effect his escape. On entering their camps, a fine young New
Foundland dog became my property by capture until both he
and I were recaptured on the night of July fourth, on the retreat
from Gettysburg in the wounded and ordnance train.

Crossing the Potomac the next day, we moved on to
Hagerstown and went into camp for two or three days to
enable the scattered commands to concentrate as directed. A
laughable incident might be recorded upon our entering the
town of Front Royal, the people of which were frantic with
delight at seeing "the boys in grey" once more. General Gaston
Lewis and myself were riding near the head of the column
when we saw two ladies with pails of buttermilk at the front
gate, who asked us to take some of it. Every old soldier knows
that such an invitation could not be refused, and whilst partaking
of their generous hospitality our brigade passed by, and some
fellow in line sang out:

"Come out of that, you know you have got a wife and baby
at home; and if you don't, I'll tell on you."

The vile outcry was taken up and continued until the last
man of Daniel's brigade had passed, much to my confusion, one
of the young ladies remarking -

"I need not ask which one of you it is, for your countenance
has fastened it on you" (pointing to me).

While halting in Hagerstown an old friend and connection of
mine, Judge Alvey, gave me an invitation, to be extended to the
rest of my immediate friends, to come and take dinner with him
and his family the next day, Sunday. He was just back from
Fort Warren, where he had passed an enforced sojourn owing
to his strong Southern proclivities, and his good wife was much
concerned lest our hobnobbing with her illustrious husband
would not send him back there as soon as we should leave.
"But, my dear madam," was my rejoinder, "we have no idea of
taking a back track across the Potomac; we have come to
stay." And such was the feeling of the others. Alas! in some
two short weeks her apprehensions were verified, and that
superb army was re-fording the river back into Virginia; but it
was not permitted me to be of the number, as I was
unavoidably detained and held in durance vile for nearly two
years thereafter.

Greencastle was our next halting place, for a day or two,
where it seemed that all of the Pennsylvania Dutch for a
hundred miles around about had come to look glum at our
audacity in venturing so far in their midst. Riding into town with
my old friend, Colonel Mercer, we stopped at the house of one
of these and called for a little liquid refreshment, which, on being
produced in a wash pitcher, Mercer poured himself out a
bumper, and was about to toss it off when I cautioned him to
hold up, remarking I had heard that when in the enemy's country
and partaking of his hospitality it is advisable to make your host
drink the first toast, concluding with the invitation: "My friend,
kindly drink to the health of President Davis, General Lee, and
the Confederate cause!" The poor Dutchie's countenance fell at
once as he replied: "I have not drank the viskey for twenty
years or more!" Mercer's suspicions were at once aroused that
he had put a sweetening in it not conducive to sanitation. Taking
out his revolver, he said: "If you have

not drank the 'viskey' for one hundred years, you shall drink that
toast!" To which the poor fellow rejoined: "Oh, do not shoot me;
I vill drink the toast"; and after inviting the Colonel to join him in
a stirrup-cup, gave us each a bottle to take back to camp.
Mercer and I were, doubtless, the avant couriers in that
hostile crowd, and felt no compunction at the enforced
hospitality to which our Pennsylvania friend was subjected.

The next day Ewell's corps moved on to Carlisle Barracks,
then a Federal post, but which had been evacuated upon news
of the approach of unwelcome visitors. The next day being
Sunday, it was resolved that the Stars and Stripes, which had
been cut down from the flagpole, should be replaced by the
Stars and Bars. The pole was replaced with the young flag
floating at the masthead. It would seem that if there was ever
opportunity to let fall a flow of eloquence, it was on that
auspicious occasion, but there was no adequate response from
any of our distinguished leaders to calls made upon them, thus
showing that heroism and oratory do not always go hand in
hand.

During the night courier after courier was delivering
messages in hot haste to General Ewell to move back in the
direction of Gettysburg, as the enemy were concentrating in
force in that vicinity. This was done without needless delay, a
halt being called for the night at the little village of Heidlersburg,
located some ten or fifteen miles from another village, about to
be made immortal in the conflict then to follow.

As illustrative of the futility of dreams, visions, and portents,
I was aroused by a dream or premonition that a mighty battle
had been fought and that I was one of the earliest victims.
Shaking off the fancy as a baseless fabric of a vision, I turned
over and went to sleep again, and again it was brought home in
renewed force, and so, I think, a third hallucination followed.
My eyes were strangers to sleep the

rest of that night, and when the next morning we were told by
our Brigadier that probably the decisive battle of the war would
be fought that day, the dreams of the night before were
brought home most forcibly, intensified by each reverberating
gun as we neared the field of conflict.

The brigade was drawn up in line at a no remote distance
from those of the Federals, who at once began to shell us. The
order was given for the command to lie down, and here
exploded perhaps the most destructive single shell fired during
the war. While General Daniel and I were holding our horses
some six or eight paces in front of the line, it fell just to our
rear. My recollection was that it killed and disabled eleven of
my old command, but Dr. H. T. Bahnson, then perhaps the
youngest boy in the battalion, now one of the leading physicians
of North Carolina, corrected my recollection by saying that
thirteen were rendered hors de combat. After an interchange
of an artillery duel for a short while, the command was
deployed preparatory to a charge.

I was ordered to go with the right wing of the command, and
when we were about half-way to the enemy's line the order
came for us to lie down so that our guns in the rear could play
upon them; then came the command "Up and charge!"
Suddenly we were on the brink of a chasm in the railroad since
known as the Deep Cut, when the enemy opened on us with
both field pieces and small arms, and before it could be
prevented the men were jumping down into the Cut with the
view to scrambling up on the other side, which was found to be
impracticable owing to the precipitous sides encountered. To
make matters worse, some masked guns opened an enfilading
fire, which was most destructive. It has been stated that
Daniel's brigade lost more in that death-trap in fifteen minutes
than was lost by any other brigade in the three days' fighting.

left, clear the defile, fall a few paces to the rear,
reorganize, and then charge, it occurred to me that then
was my opportunity to offset my own loss, which was deemed
inevitable. Taking up a musket, I managed with difficulty to
crawl to the top of the embankment, and saw the enemy drawn
up in line about a hundred yards in front, behind an old Virgina
worm fence. They soon began to advance, but with no alacrity
for the work. Seeing a field officer in front, urging them on
whilst waving his hat, the thought occurred that his loss might
be of considerable advantage to us in checking the advance. He
fell on the instant, which occasioned a momentary halt, and
letting myself aloose at the top, recovered an upright position at
the bottom, but in a dilapidated plight. A jutting root or jagged
rock caught in my breeches' leg and tore it from the bottom to
the top, losing hat also in the fall. On recovering an upright
position, I was knocked down again almost immediately
afterwards, either by a minnie or piece of shell, when my old
Adjutant, Austin Green, rushed up and supported me to the
rear, advising the field hospital as soon as it could be reached.
Reaching my horse, which had been left in the rear, I mounted
and started back for it, arriving some twenty minutes later.

Already the ground was covered by the wounded and
mangled, while three of the Medical Staff, including Dr. Frank
Patterson, the brigade chief of that department, were
hard at work, their coats off and sleeves rolled up, to stem the
torrent of death, having a couple of impromptu tables for
operating purposes. They were an honor to the profession,
those three noble gentlemen. For two or three days ensuing
there was no relaxation, or let up, in their gruesome work, if
even a slight snatch of sleep. The pile of amputated limbs were
rapidly increasing in size, but still they persevered in their
glorious work.

three or four hundred guns were belching forth destruction on
opposing sides, Bill, one of the General's body-servants, who
had been sent back for provisions for his master, came up to
me and upon my asking him if he wasn't scared down there
amongst all those big guns, replied: "No, sir; Mars June's down
there, and if he can stand it I reckon I can."

On the fourth day of the hell carnival that was going on, the
great Captain, after his terrific loss to gain possession of Round
Top hill, and running short of ammunition, deemed it essential to
order a retreat so as to place the Potomac between himself and
Meade. Those who were able to stand the trip on wheels
proceeded to do so, including Captain Bond of the Staff and
myself, our friends having impressed a little one-horse team for
the occasion. Bond had received an ugly wound in his body,
while I had one in the back of my head.

The weird procession started on the back track, and about
sunrise on the morning of the immortal fourth making a train of
vehicles some eleven miles in length, including wounded
ordnance as well as men. Towards nightfall, on entering a
defile in the hills, desultory firing in the front broke on the ear,
growing more frequent upon every step of the advance. It was
soon learned that Kilpatrick had been detached with his division
to intercept the retreat of the train, for failing to do which he
should have been court-martialed for utter incompetency for
command, as that long train had but three squadrons of cavalry
for guard to oppose his thousands. From time to time a horse or
mule would be knocked down from the opposite sides of the
road, thus occasioning delay by a halt to detach him from the
harness and drag him to one side.

Things were in this condition when the defile was cleared,
and the little mounted guard left the rear and went forward in
hot haste. It was a bright moonlight night, about ten o'clock,
when it occurred, and a heavy ordnance wagon loaded with

damaged guns, in attempting to pass our little wagon took off a
wheel and dropped us in the middle of the road. On the instant,
a score of blue-coated cavalry were upon us with their
revolvers leveled almost in touch. Then it was that the utility of
gab was made manifest for once, for Guilford spoke with a
fluency of tongue rarely, if ever, surpassed by any of his race:
"Don't shoot, gentlemen, for God's sake, don't shoot. We
surrender. We are prisoners;" and so we were.

Being then ordered to get up in the old gun-wagon, which
was not the easiest ambulance conceivable, the twenty or thirty
vehicles which had been captured by the doughty Major-
General, were ordered to move forward, but soon made a
detour, going to the rear, as the rumor ran that Jeb Stuart, with
his entire command, was waiting for the other to come up.
After moving at a rapid gait the rest of the night, about sunrise
the next morning we passed the identical spot where the
mishap befell us the night before. This was impressed upon the
mind by seeing my Berryville pup sitting down in the broken
down wagon and to keep guard over it.

On stopping for dinner, an old friend, Major C. C.
Blacknall, came up and asked how I was off for transportation,
and upon being told, he remarked: "I am pretty much in the
same plight, and don't propose to stand it any longer." This was
said with some difficulty of articulation as he had had a pretty
rough operation of dentistry two days before, a musket-ball
entering one side of his jaw, taking out a half-dozen of his teeth,
and coming out on the other. Continuing, he remarked: "I see a
very neat little turnout under those trees there. Let's go and
take possession;" which was done. Soon an aide-de-camp rode
up and demanded to know what we were doing in General
Custer's carriage. The reply came -
"We are wounded prisoners, and demand the right of
transportation." He went back to his commander and reported,
and soon returned to us with the gratifying message: "The

General says you may ride in it the rest of to-day, but he will be
damned if you haven't got to look out for other accommodation
to-morrow." His decision proved that he was a gentleman, as
little Powder Horn showed later on that he was a hero, falling
into a trap of hostile savages, and losing his own life and that of
every man in his command.

Shortly after starting on the evening march and reaching the
top of a high hill, a courier came dashing in in hot haste and
reported that Stuart was near by and then advancing. The head
of the column was at once turned and we went down that hill
faster than we came up, reaching the village below (Smithfield,
I think the name). Everything was in a state of confusion.
Blacknall remarked to me in an under-tone:

"Now's our opportunity. These fellows are thoroughly
panicked, and if old Jeb would only drop a few shells over here,
they would take to their heels in hot haste. Now, let's go out
and lie down on the sidewalk there and groan as hard as we
can."

We did, and simulated broken bones as well as could be. The
Dutch ladies came around, but evinced no sympathy for our
woeful condition. One of them remarked: "Served them right. I
wish it had taken off their heads instead."

Just then the order came to continue the march, but our
vehicle having disappeared in the confusion we continued to
groan and wait for Stuart's shells. The last wagons were
disappearing on the retreat when a Federal surgeon came
up and asked us what we were doing there. My reply was that
we were wounded men and if he expected us to keep up with
the procession he must send a vehicle back to take us up. This
was done, the occupants of one of them being hustled out in a
hurry to make room for the wounded prisoners.

The march was continued in double-quick time until
about ten o'clock at night, and a halt was called, and we went
into camp. The next day the wounded were left at the hospital

in Frederick, and were well cared for. A dear little Sister of
Charity took me in hand and dressed my wound most carefully.
When breakfast was brought in the next morning and I had
partaken of mine, I remarked to the hospital steward: "I wish
you would give my boy something to eat." He instantly replied:
"I see no boy about here." "Well, sir, if you prefer the
expression, my man." "Why didn't you let him eat with you?"
was the saucy reply; and mine was: "'Guilford, tell this fellow
why you didn't eat breakfast with me." And his answer was: "I
would as soon have thought of sticking my head in the fire as
to sit down to a table with Mars Wharton." "Mars," he said,
"there are no masters around here, nor men either." To which I
rejoined: "Hark ye, sir, I have had enough of your insolence. I
know your master, Colonel ---, who was an old friend of mine,
and if there is any more of it, you will be reported to him and
reduced to the ranks again." The threat had the desired effect
on the creature, and he quieted down after bringing Guilford his
breakfast.

The next day we were moved down to Fort McHenry, near
Baltimore, a change for the worse, and from there to Fort
Delaware, below Philadelphia, the next day. The officer in
command there was one General Schoepff, as it leaked out -
lately a waiter in the dining-room of Willard's hotel, and a more
pretentious, overweening upstart I have never seen. The Field
and Staff were quartered inside of the Fort, while the other
prisoners had to rough it on the outside as being more
accessible to the General's emissaries who were trying to
induce them to take the oath. In going out for an afternoon
swim, Colonel Baxter Smith and Major Jack Thompson got an
opportunity to speak to a squad of our men and urged them,
under no circumstances, to take the oath as we would
probably be exchanged. The circumstance was duly reported to
the doughty Dutchman in command, who had

them both marched off to the dark prison, where they were
confined and fed on bread and water for a day or two
thereafter.

On the fact being reported to Major Burton, an officer of the
old army and second in command at this place, he waited on
General Schoepff and denounced his conduct as cruel,
unsoldierly, and unjustified, threatening, that if the two
gentlemen were not immediately sent back to quarters, he
would throw up his commission and report the case in person at
the War Office in Washington. The worthy Major's threat had
the desired effect and our two friends were ushered back into
their old quarters, not in most amiable mood as might be
imagined.

Major Thompson, who was of a fiery nature, took his seat on
the side of his bunk, and remained silent for some time, when
he suddenly burst forth with: "When we get back to Richmond,
I will wait on President Davis and tender one-half of all that I
am worth for the privilege of keeping Castle Thunder for one
week." To which a little chaplain replied: "Major, if you got it,
you would treat the poor fellows better than you think you
would." Jack rejoined, in high dudgeon: "If you think so, parson,
you don't know what a damned bad heart I have got," which
caused the whole room to explode with laughter.

Another laughable little incident occurred when Schoepff
came around to tell us that we were to be transferred from his
custody to another's elsewhere, but said he was not at liberty to
divulge the place, adding: "You will be well gratified with the
change, and all I ask is that you give your paroles not to attempt
to escape whilst on the road." Some of us protested against
doing so as it was a novel proceeding to put prisoners, under
guard, on the word not to escape if opportunity is offered. His
rejoinder came: "Those who refuse to do so will be placed in
condition where escape will be

impossible, for I will have handcuffs on all who do." Captain
Surrat, of a :Mississippi regiment, was in a room with us,
hatless, coatless, and barefooted. The General, thinking he had
gotten inside surreptitiously and that he was a private, who
should have been on the outside, asked him insolently:

"What are you doing in here?" and the Captain replied:

"I joined the Tishimingo Invincibles to fight for the liberties of
my country, and they made me Commissary of the regiment.
On the march one day I was sent off with a squad in search of
forage, and as the weather was mighty hot I took off my coat
and shoes, and was loading my wagons with corn at a crib
when a company of your calvary dashed up and seized us all.
As we were going along, and I was mounted behind one of your
men, my hat fell off, and I told the gentleman in front to please
let me get down and pick it up, but he refused to do it, saying, 'If
you get off this horse I will blow your rebel brains out,' and I
didn't do it. I was brought here with other prisoners, and turned
over to you, and that's what I'm doing in here."

The impression was that the Tishimingo Invincibles got the
best of that fight.

In due time we reached Johnson's Island, in Lake Erie, a
prison for officers, where some two thousand were already
confined and the number continually increasing. On the whole, it
was a decided improvement over the last two prisons, as it was
more commodious and roomy. There were eleven or twelve
two-story blocks in two parallel rows, extending the length of
the prison yard, the two upper ones being cut up into small
rooms for the Field Staff, into one of which I was fortunate
enough to gain admittance. These rooms were about fifteen
feet square for the accommodation of eight prisoners each,
three tiers of bunks being allotted for sleeping purpose. Here the
next twenty-two months of our uneventful lives were passed to
little purpose. The prison guard consisted of a regiment of 'home
guards,' who had enlisted

for that special duty with the understanding that they were not
to be sent to the front. As might be expected, they were not as
considerate for our comfort as old soldiers would have been, as
the following anecdote will illustrate:

After a six-months sojourn under their supervision, a badly
decimated brigade under General Shaler, who had lost an arm,
was sent on from Virginia to relieve Major Pearson in
command. The improvement in our condition and treatment
became obvious from the very first. One day an altercation
took place between a member of each command, the home
guard fellow remarking to the old soldier: "You fellows treat
these rebels with as much politeness as if they were some of
our folks;" to which Shaler's man replied: "And you fellows,
who have never smelt powder, treat them as if they were dogs.
If you had helped to catch them as we have, you would have
more respect for them, for we know what they are."

There was no more needless shooting of prisoners after their
coming, as there had been under the redoubtable 'stay-at-
homes', who enjoyed, of all things, some slight excuse for
making a target of some of us. There was one young rascal
especially who took a special delight in shooting a rebel. The
change was so marked in our treatment under the two
commands that there soon came to be a better entente
cordiale between us and Shaler's boys than there was between
us and Pearson's. For one, and I think for all, we felt grateful to
these old war veterans for their marked courtesy and civility.

Eight of our number resolved to attempt an escape, the plan
being to dig a hole or well some three feet deep through the
dining-room floor of Block No. 1, and then to strike off at right
angles until past the fence on which a guard was stationed, and
then come up on the outside, all precautions being taken to
conceal their work. In due time the tunnel

was finished, and it was decided by lot which of the workmen
should go first, and in rotation. There had been heavy rains for a
day or two when the eventful night came, and the cavity under
ground was almost half filled with water. Two had gotten
through when it came to the lot of an Arkansas Bayard to take
his turn. He was Captain Cole, a large and powerful man, and
his frame was too huge for the little hole. On emerging his head
and shoulders from the outside aperture, he found it was
impossible to pull himself through. Calling, in subdued tone, to
the man next behind, his condition, and telling him to go back and
warn the others, Cole remained there in a cold drenching rain
until after reveille, the next morning, when he called for
assistance and had himself drug out more dead than alive. He
was taken to General Shaler's headquarters, and the facts
reported. The General asked him: "When you found that you
were stuck in a hole, Captain, why didn't you call for relief
sooner?" To which came the noble reply: "Because it would
have been dishonorable; two of my comrades were already
through, and if I had sounded the alarm, they would have been
recaptured." Shaler's reply was: "Captain Cole, you are a hero
and a noble fellow, and I guess the best thing you can do is to
take a stiff drink of whiskey in the plight you are in, and to have
yourself rubbed down with the same;" which was done by the
General's orderly, Shaler giving him a bottle to take back to the
prison-pen for his own exclusive use. One of the young officers
of the Home Guards remarked, in surprise, to one of the scarred
veterans: "It's well for that fellow that you all came before he
fell into the hands of General Shaler, for Major Pearson would
have had him in the dark prison and fed on bread and water, if
he had been in command." The reply came "Your whole
command could

not turn out one such man as that noble fellow, who has
just been sent back into the prison yard."

One of Shaler's superb works of charity was to permit details
from each mess to go down to the banks of the lake and
get buckets of fresh water for the use of the others. Up to that
time, our wants in that regard had to be supplied from shallow
wells or, more properly, seip-holes, not over six or eight feet
deep and, of course, only surface drainage. A pretty fat
graveyard was left behind when that island was vacated, but
had it not been for that thoughtful kindness on his part it would,
doubtless, have been much greater by many fold.

And so the first summer passed in dull-fretting monotony,
and winter came on, and what a winter it was! For days, and
even weeks, the mercury ranged between 25 and 30 degrees
below zero, and as these structures were of weather-board
and without plaster, and a totally inadequate supply of fuel to
keep us from freezing, the suffering was intense. At night the
bedding would have to be doubled, and the men compelled to
sleep by reliefs or installments, one-half under cover while the
other was sitting around a stove to keep from freezing. But we
were living in daily hope that the cartel exchange would soon
be ratified and that we could go back and resume places with
our comrades in ranks.

But still another summer came and went, and the delusive
hope failed of fruition; and so, another winter too, whilst our
numbers were being constantly repleted and depleted, the first
by capture, and the last by death. The hospital was kept filled
to repletion, as I can attest from actual experience, for a month
or more, being on the sick-list during that time and forced to
take refuge within its limits.

And here I propose to pay humble tribute to three as noble
fellows as it has been my privilege to meet in all life - the

hospital nurses. One of them was named Carpenter, a native
son of the Emerald Isle, who had enlisted in an Alabama
regiment. He and the two others seemed to be ubiquitous
amongst the sick and wounded cots. If Carpenter ever slept, it is
more than I can tell; but certainly, I never called him, in daytime
or night, that he was not instantly at my side to know what was
wanted. When convalescence set in for me, I asked him one
day: "Carpenter, what do you get for this?" The noble fellow
seemed hurt by the question. "Get?" says he: "Colonel, I hope
you do not suppose I am doing this work for pay." "If not, what
for?" was my reply. "Because," quoth he, "it is my duty." Says I:
"My friend, there are three thousand other men on this accursed
island who do not seem to regard it as their duty." "No, but mine
is a peculiar case; you see, that when it was known that we had
to fall back after the three days fight at Gettysburg, my brigadier
called for volunteers to look after the sick and wounded until the
enemy should come up and take charge of them. Volunteering
wasn't very brisk that day, and I too held back in hopes that
others would anticipate the call; but as they didn't, I told my
colonel that I would be one of the number. And so you see,
Colonel, that having volunteered for the work, I have no right to
shirk or give it up now." "My friend," I said, "that may be a
strained view to take, but to my thinking you are not only a hero
but a self-sacrificing philanthropist. Let me thank you from the
bottom of an overflowing heart, my friend, for your attentions to
me, and, from my observation, to others.

On returning to my room, I set to work to raise some little
token in recognition of their noble work and succeeded in
collecting nearly two hundred dollars in greenbacks. On
handing the money to him, his voice became choked and he
remarked in the rich brogue of his land: "The devil of a cent

of it will I take." "And if the two others are like-minded,"
was my reply, "what is to be done with it?" "Set it aside for
a hospital fund," he replied; "relieve these poor gentlemen who
need it more than we." "Well, then, my noble friend; you must
consent to take it and act as their almoner."

I regret that the names of the two others have escaped me,
but trust that the world has since been good to all of them.
When it is taken into consideration that they were undergoing
all the drudgery of the pesthouse, even carrying out the remains
of those who died, there is no denying that here was heroism
and sense of duty surpassing that of a deadly charge on the
battlefield.

As said, various expedients were resorted to to secure
escape, even to attempted escapade of the sentry's beat by a
few bold and determined spirits, in which a gallant hero,
Captain Bowles, of Kentucky, lost his life in mounting the
scaling ladder.

Another project which came near being successful was
when Colonel Thomas, the cidevant "French Lady," with a
dozen secret volunteers, took passage at Detroit on one of the
large lake steamers for Buffalo, an understanding being that on
preconcerted signal they were to overpower the officers of the
boat, reduce the crew and passengers to subjection, landing the
last at the first convenient point, and push in to Johnson's Island,
where it was understood we would rise, overpower the guard,
secure their arms, and take passage for Canada. Things
worked to a charm up to the point of capturning the boat and
landing the passengers, and whilst a few of us were on the
lookout for the rocket-signal that was to tell of their coming,
including Generals Trimble and Archer, it became manifest by
another signal given that the scheme had miscarried, it having
become known that the Government war

vessel "Michigan," had anchored the day before off the island,
which would naturally make the attempt abortive.

As the scheme is now recalled, the correspondence between
General Trimble, the ranking officer on the island, and Colonel
Thomas, strange as it may sound, was carried on through the
columns of a New York daily, the 'Herald,' I believe, and was
after this wise, Thomas representing a Lothario under an
assumed name proposing to run off with his sweetheart whom
we will designate as Mary, for short, and who was
impersonated by that one-legged old veteran, General Isaac R.
Trimble, of Baltimore. Thomas's message would run: "To Mary.
The carriage will be at your gate on such a night. Be ready and
prepared to meet it." The answer, in due time, would be: "Your
notice of coming has been received, and Mary will be ready as
directed."

The sequel to have been, as intimated, was that the few who
were in the plot were to rush from block to block and impart the
information that help was at hand, and that all that was
necessary for us to do was to overcome the guard on the island,
capture their boats and steam away to the Queen's dominions.
The plot was not widely divulged for fear of its reaching the
outside before time, and when it became obvious that there was
some miscarriage in its development the hearts of all sank
within them. The papers, in due time, gave an outline of the
failure of the attempt, and General Trimble's visitors returned to
their respective rooms much cast down and heavy at heart.

It may be added, in this connection, that an under officer of
the "Michigan" dropped a note to the engineer of that boat,
giving a hint of the plot on foot. The confusion of the last one
on reading it excited the suspicions of the captain, and taking
the communication from the hands of the other his

suspicions became verified, and counter arrangements were
made to intercept the arrival of the "French lady."

Thus failed another well-conceived scheme to restore the
officers on the island to their respective commands across the
Potomac. One other, perhaps, to the same intent, and I have
done on that line.

During that awfully cold spell, when the ice was about two
feet thick around our prison pen, the thought was conceived
that if the frost only extended across to the Canadian border
we might rise and disarm the guard, as already set forth, and
steal a march on them for the other side. The only question was
to determine whether the ice extended all the way across in
order that the attempt might be made. In our then condition, it
was impossible to tell without outside information, and this was
suppressed by an embargo on all papers for a few days
thereafter. It was later known that Lake Erie was frozen from
shore to shore. The rescue of the denizens on Johnson's Island
might have given a different issue to the ultimate struggle.
"Alas! the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee."

A word additional regarding the hospital. It was in charge, by
courtesy, of three Confederate surgeons, namely, Major
Stedman, Colonel Maxwell, and Captain Sessions, men eminent
in their profession, but who were enrolled on the line of killers
instead of curers. Active and efficient they all were in their
new assignment to duty. The Federal surgeons who had
supervision of the establishment were Drs. Woodward, a
kindhearted and thorough gentleman, who did all in his power to
alleviate the sufferings of those with whom he was brought in
contact, and one Eversman from the vater land, as the name
imports, who would have been a concentration of the bully and
blackguard had he possessed the first requisite for that position.
Cruel and overbearing he was by nature,

and delighted in giving needless offence. There was a natural
repugnance between this last-named pill-maker and myself, and
deeming that my days were numbered I was not backward in
giving him my estimate of his true character on the occasions
of his daily visits. The first-named of these is still held in
grateful remembrance by every prisoner with whom he was
brought in contact, the last, in utter loathing. Commentary: It
matters not how exalted may be the position of those in power,
it is far better for posthumous fame that they prefer the roll of
gentleman to that of the bully.

Before quitting the medical staff, it is perhaps apposite to the
occasion to speak of another of the Eversman order, a kind of
orderly, hospital steward, or something of the sort, by the name
of Foster, the most universal petty rogue within my knowledge.
He had the distribution of certain packages sent through the
express, and in the beginning of his duties was content to
appropriate about twenty per cent of the contents; but immunity
from discovery prompted him by degrees to extend his stealage.
He rose to 30, 40, 50, and finally to 70 per cent, when my
patience became thoroughly exhausted, and I told him that his
cupidity, to call it by a mild name, would be reported to General
Shaler if his conduct was not corrected. Thereupon he put on
the air of a much injured man, and remarked in high dudgeon: "I
would have you know, Colonel Green, that I am an officer of
the United States Army, and no man shall twit me with
stealing." My reply was: "Then leave it off, Foster, and no man
will do it." Am glad to say that after my little moral lecture to the
fellow and threat of exposure, he let up somewhat on his
avarice of appropriation of others goods.

One of the most popular of our jailers was Lieutenant-
Colonel Scoville, who for the life of him couldn't say "No." He
had charge of approving all papers emanating from the

inside on the powers that be, and never failed to affix his
signature to each and every one, which amounted to little in the
end. As his amiable weakness had long been seen through, a
wag from Florida resolved to have a little fun out of him, and
made a formal requisition on the Secretary of War, embracing
six field-pounders with grape and other suitable ammunition for
the same, one thousand muskets, and ten thousand rounds of
ammunition, one hundred sabres well sharpened, and ten
thousand rations. The worthy colonel, without running his eye
over the novel document, signed it, and promised to deliver to
his chief, Colonel Pearson, who was in high dudgeon when he
saw that Scoville had approved the requisition. Suffice it, that
none of these essential articles looking to a severance of
enforced connection ever came to hand. Let it be added that
Scoville was another to whom the proud old prefix 'gentleman'
might be applied. He strayed down to Nashville after the war,
and he and his old friend, Fite, became great cronies. Whilst
many thought him more profuse of promise than performance,
they, nevertheless, made allowance for the prompting impulse at
the bottom, which forbade his hurting the feelings of others.

Having thus given a brief glimpse of the character of our
jailers, perhaps brief allusion to some of the jail-birds would not
be out of place. First of all, of glorious old Isaac Trimble, one of
the early graduates of the Military Academy, and the engineer-
in-chief of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. After espousing
our side, he rapidly reached the rank of major-general, and
caught a musket-ball in his leg at Chancellorsville. "Cut it off,
Doctor, cut it off," was his imperative command to the surgeon
in charge. "No, General," came the reply; "I can save your leg."
"And prevent my taking part in the campaign next across the
Potomac, which I am convinced will not be far off." In Pickett's
historic

charge he was second in command after Pender fell, and was
picked up by the Federal ambulance men and carried back to
an improvised hospital, when amputation of the previously
wounded leg became imperative. Later on his own surgeon
received permission to come and wait upon his chief, when, to
his surprise, the old man opened upon him in language far from
loving. "If, sir, you had obeyed my orders at Chancellorsville
and taken off this leg, I could have kept on in that glorious
charge up that hill. Let it be a lesson to you, sir, hereafter to
always obey the orders of your superiors." I knew the old hero
before and later on, and ever found him that kind-hearted,
courtly gentleman; that he was born and died.

John R. Fellows, a boy-lieutenant in General Beall's room,
just opposite, was one whom it pleased me to study and honor.
He was known in his adopted State of Arkansas as the Little
Giant, in imitation of Stephen A. Douglass, the Little Giant of
Illinois. His readiness of speech and flow of oratory were
almost phenomenal. Although a Northern man by birth, he had
run away from home when twelve years old, and developed in
the wild woods of Arkansas. A single anecdote of his readiness
of speech will illustrate the man. When, in due time, the 22d of
February came along and our friends on the outside were
making a great jubilee over the day, it occurred to some of us
on the inside that we had as good, if not better, right to enthuse
over George's natal day than they had; and a committee was
appointed to wait on the Little Giant, who was asleep in his
room, and demand that he come out at once and give us a
counter blast on patriotism. He tried to get around it, but was
forced down, vi et armis, and mounted on the platform of an
upper floor around which a crowd was assembled, and for half
an hour I have never heard such a burst of oratory as escaped
his lips. The

crowd by this time had been augmented by almost every
prisoner on the island, who vied with each other in outburst of
applause. This became so great that the authorities on the
outside concluded that we were premeditating an outbreak, and
marched in a detachment of troops to quell or disperse us.
Owing to our close-wedged mass, it took the officer in command
some time to get to the foot of the stair-case, and just before he
started to ascend the band on the outside struck up "The Star
Spangled Banner," under which they were playing. Then it was
inborn genius rose to the superlative. "Yes," he exclaimed, as if
in rejoinder to the tune, "the Star Spangled Banner, yon flaunting
lie; long may it wave over the land of the thief and the home of
the knave." Perhaps the exordium did not bring down the house.
As the Federal captain reached the top of the stair-case and
tapped him on the shoulder, he said: "Look here, sir, this thing
has got to stop." "Certainly, sir," said Fellows, in his suavest
tones, "I had just finished as you came up," and we dispersed
with three-cheers for the Little Giant of Arkansas. Later on, he
married a young lady in Memphis as deficient in this world's
gear as he was himself, and carried her on to New York with
hardly the wherewith to pay passage, but his genius was
infectious and soon he was made first assistant district attorney
of the city of New York, and a little later full official of that
position. Then it was determined that he would better fill the
position of Member of Congress of the United States
Legislature, and so they sent him to Washington by an
overwhelming majority, and sent him again, in each of which
positions he left a name behind. Am glad to say that I have had
one visit from him after his exaltation, and he was on the way
for another, which decrepitude cut short.

CHAPTER XV.

Finally the auspicious day came. The prisoners were being
sent home by alphabetical list, and the last batch before the
surrender chanced to include my name, the last on the list, thus
bringing in the fateful "No. 1" again. Nothing of incident
occurred until going down Chesapeake Bay in an overcrowded
cattle-boat in a drenching rain. Seeing no better place for
sleeping quarters, I concluded to straddle a water-barrel just
under the eaves of the boat. It was not a very comfortable
accommodation as the water was trickling down my back all the
time, but still it was the best that could be had. While trying to
catch a moment's respite of slumber, it became obvious that
some one was fumbling in my front pocket. Rousing myself, I
saw that he was one of the guard, and grabbed him by the
throat with my left hand while planting a full-aimed blow in his
face with the other.

On reaching Aiken's Landing, Virginia, the point of exchange,
we were compelled to walk a mile or two over to where the
Confederate boat came down, namely, "Varina." The Federal
Commissioner of exchange planted a number of negro troops
between us and the boat that we had to take, with orders to
allow no one to go aboard until the order was given. The poor
fellows, however, in their great anxiety to set foot on
Confederate soil once more, made a rush for the gangway,
when the darkey in charge of that particular point commenced
backing with the outcry: "Keep back, white folks, keep back! If
you don't keep back, how can I keep you back?" To my
conception, the exclamation on his part was an admission of the
value of that sort of material in war.

The return from there to Richmond was a sort of tenderfoot
affair as it was known that the river was planted with

torpedoes and the slightest deviation from line would probably
occasion a blow-up. Arriving in the Capital city, things wore a
gloomy look indeed preliminary to the final crash. Going to the
Spottiswood Hotel with my friend General Rucker, a one-armed
soldier of old Forrest's, who started into the breakfast-room,
Rucker wearing a fancy hat with an ostrich feather which I had
given him at Cumberland, Maryland, and which he proceeded to
hang on a peg at the door. In reply to my caution that he had
better take his head-gear in with him, he said: "No, Green, we
are back in God's country now, where folks don't steal hats."
On getting a very indifferent breakfast, after the Confederate
menu, we saw only three or four capital coverings and lo!
Rucker's was not of the number. They were to all appearances
old campaigners with brims gone and holes through the tops.
The poor General looked aghast, and remarked: "I don't know
what has become of my hat." "Why," I said, "there it is,"
pointing to the most dilapidated specimen of the lot. Said I:
"Recollect, Rucker, we are back in God's country, where folks
don't steal hats." According to recollection, I had to shell out
fifty dollars additional (Confederate, be it understood) for him to
go down Main street in search of another head-covering.

Two days later my home was reached on Shocco Creek,
which I had left two years previously. It was a gala return all
around, including white folks and negroes. After waiting ten or
fifteen days, I proceeded to order another mount for myself
and Guilford, and was about starting in search of the grand
army when stragglers began dropping in, who with one accord
reported that General Lee had surrendered. On this fact being
established beyond doubt, my heart sank within me, and I am
not ashamed to confess that I broke out blubbering and kept it
up for an hour or two, for it was the great

disappointment in my life, the reflection constantly recurring
- and all for naught. The success of our cause had been for
long years the dream and hallucination of life, and the outcome
was blank despair. Such, I presume, was the experience of
most others who had staked all on the issue.

Our friend, Mrs. William Polk, and cousin, Miss Currier,
having made up their minds to go north in search of additional
outfit, it became incumbent on me to go with them to Raleigh to
secure passports for the trip, which was effected through two
old West Point friends, Generals Schofield and Ruger. The two
Confederate dames had gotten themselves up regardless for
their re-advent into the fashionable world, but on making their
entrance into the parlors of the old St. Nicholas Hotel there
was an explosion of laughter at their uncouth appearance. My
consolation to them, on their return was: "Well, it is some
satisfaction to you to know that you created a sensation on your
re-appearance."

The next two or three years were a period of political
uncertainty for the entire South, for no one knew what
tomorrow would bring forth. At that period I was selected as
one of the delegates to the National Democratic Convention,
which was to assemble at New York. We met replete with
foolish hope that something would be done to obliterate recent
by-gones. Governor Seymour, than whom a purer, abler, more
gifted man could not be found in the entire country, was the
presiding officer, and later on received the nomination for
President under his most earnest and strenuous protest. Two
days later I met him on the boat going up to Saratoga, and his
hopes for Democratic success seemed entirely to have
vanished. He remarked just before reaching Albany, "You
gentlemen from North Carolina forced my nomination upon the
convention and thereby excluded all possibility of success at the
polls " As I now recall his idea, policy enjoined

that a soldier should be off-set by a soldier - Grant by
Hancock. As now seen, in retrospect, there was no name or
combination of names that could have prevented the success
of the North's great idol, Ulysses S. Grant, and so it appears in
a subsequent convention, in which his name led the ticket of his
party.

I was made the nominee of my party for elector shortly
afterwards, and made an active canvass in furtherance of the
object, knowing all the time that it was a hopeless endeavor.
The year succeeding I was out in nomination for Congress in
the old Third District of North Carolina, composed of the
strongest negro counties in the State, and although the normal
majority was considerably reduced, it was not cut down
sufficiently to give any showing of an election.

All of this time I was raising corn and tobacco and the other
et ceteras incident to farming, making a reasonable support.
Later on my attention was attracted to the Tokay vineyard,
near Fayetteville, North Carolina, said at the time to be the
largest one this side of the Rocky Mountains. It was purchased
and improvements begun upon an extensive scale, and it has
been a source of solace to me, saying nothing of profit, ever
since.

A year or two after moving here I was put in nomination
for Congress and elected by an even five hundred majority.
Thence forward my residence was chiefly in the Federal
Capital, and my associates mainly with members of Congress.
The first session, with two of my daughters, I was domiciled at
the Ebbitt and was brought in contact with numbers of
congenial spirits, amongst them being William McKinley and his
wife. The duties of the House, while not arduous, required
pretty constant attention, and some of the most agreeable
acquaintances followed; amongst these may be mentioned S. S.
Cox, commonly known as Sunset Cox; Governor

Curtin, Benton McMillin, John Ballentine, William Hatch, Hilary
Herbert, James Blount, Robert Davidson, Charles, O'Ferrall,
Charles Crisp, George Cabell, William Forney, Otho Singleton,
John Reagan, William Springer, Seaborn Reese, William Oates,
William Ferry, James Richardson and John O'Neill. Apropos, of
the last-named follows an annecdote. He and I were appointed
as representatives of our respective States to attend the opening
of the New Orleans Exposition, which was to be done by the
President, Grover Cleveland, touching a button. I was about to
attend in ordinary dress, when meeting the Speaker, (Mr.
Carlisle,) who told me it was to be a full-dress affair and that I
had better hurry home and put on my swallow-tail. Shortly after
I encountered O'Neill, and told him what I had just heard, and
he too rushed to his room and ensconced himself in one. At the
auspicious moment, to my surprise and mortification, Johnny and
I were the only two fellows in swallow-tails, and I overheard
one of those ubiquitous individuals known as reporters, remark
to another: "What fool is that over there in evening dress?"
pointing at Johnny. I took the hint, and not wishing to appear in
the papers in that connection, dropped down into a big arm chair
near by and covered the nether ends of the obnoxious garment
with my arms. The next day Johnny appeared in full print with
the sole honors of war, as the only gentleman present arrayed in
evening dress, and commenting upon his dignified appearance in
that hateful garment worn chiefly by undertakers and
headwaiters. Due discretion, doubtless, prevented my showing
off in the same connection.

Whilst in the other house, besides our own Senators, Ransom
and Vance, may be named primarily those of our sister State
on the south, Wade Hampton, whom, in the post-meridian of
life, I loved first and foremost of all men, and M. C. Butler;
Joe Blackburn, commonly called "Old Joe," for

short, although he was the youngest man in that body; George
and Walthall, of Mississippi; Jones and Berry, of Arkansas;
George Pendleton, of Ohio, Brown, of Georgia, and Vest and
Cockrell, of Missouri.

Wishing to master the duties of the position, I gave very little
attention to social calls, but devoted the evenings almost
exclusively to work. And here let it be remarked, in passing,
that new members are of very little use or utility to their
constituents in the first term or two. Men of mediocre ability
often make a mark by long continued service. During my first
term I framed and introduced bills, and supported them by set
speeches, which I deemed of utility to the country at large.
Among these may be mentioned a bill against food and drug
adulteration, the first, I believe, looking to that end, although the
subject is now receiving most serious consideration from both
Houses of Congress, including the President and his Cabinet.
Another, a bill for an appropriation for a public building in
Wilmington, which passed, and with some accretion from the
Senate gave that city the most ornate structure in the limits of
the State. Also a bill for an inter-inland waterway between
Norfolk and Beaufort, looking to extension later on to
Jacksonville, Florida, which is also receiving due regard at this
time from the present Congress.

Upon the expiration of my first term in Congress my name
was brought before the nominating convention for re-election,
and won through without difficulty; election followed by some
twenty-five hundred majority, or five times what it was two
years previously. On resuming seat for the second term, I
rented a private residence at the corner of Sixteenth and Q.
Streets, belonging to my old friend, General Innis Palmer, of the
United States Army, where with my children and servants I
lived a very quiet life for the two years to follow, and where my
oldest daughter, then Mrs. Pembroke Jones, kept

house for me. Other measures followed in the way of
presentation, some with ultimate success, but not worth
recapitulation.

In the second session of the same (the Forty-ninth Congress)
I broke up housekeeping and moved down to the old National
Hotel, where the rest of the term was passed. My next door
neighbor, in rotation of rooms, was Captain Joe Blackburn, then
United States Senator, with whom a strong friendship sprung
up, which has lasted ever since, and upon whom a good joke
comes in apropos. One night when he and a number of other
friends were assembled, I put the question direct: "Captain Joe,
what do you think of General Jackson? Not Stonewall, but the
other." "Oh," says he, "You mean 'Old
Hickory.'" And upon
acquiescence, he replied: "A great man, sir, a grand man, who
has had few equals in this or any land." To this my rejoinder
came: "Did you ever see what he said of his Kentucky
contingent in the great battle?" "No, but it must have been a
glorious tribute to those noble fellows," was Joe's reply. "Judge
for yourself, my friend. He said, for some unaccountable reason
the Kentuckians on the other side of the river became panic-stricken
and ran like wild turkeys." "Where did you get that?"
was his indignant rejoinder. "From his original dispatch just after
the great battle which was published in a Washington paper a
few days later on, and a copy of which is now posted up in
Hancock's saloon where you may at some time have strayed
in." "Well," the Senator remarked, "it only shows him what I
have always known him to be - a first-class d-- fool."

I had early become the possessor of a fine Kentucky
thorough-bred saddle-horse, and my afternoons after office-hours
were spent on his back frequently in company with my
old friend, General Hampton, who likewise owned one that he
thought incomparable. On the eve of purchase he and

General Ransom were called upon to pass judgment upon the
merits of the Kentuckian, and Ransom mounted him to show
off his gaits. "Only a pacer," was the great cavalryman's
contemptuous criticism: "I wouldn't have him as a free gift." A
few days later his one-legged lieutenant, Butler, asked me if I
wouldn't take a turn with him out in the country, remarking that
General Hampton had loaned him his horse and that he would
meet me up at Naillor's stable, where my own was kept, at
four o'clock. On coming up he was in a state of ferment,
remarking, "Old Hamp. thinks he is a judge of horse-flesh, but I
would not have this thing if he would give him to me;" adding,
"he only has one gait, and that is a pace." "Singular coincidence
that, Butler," was my reply, "as it was precisely the
condemnation he put on mine a few weeks ago." He rejoined:
"He hasn't heard the last of it, for I will ring it on him." As he
did, much to the older General's disgruntlement, eliciting the
remark: "Butler knows nothing more about a horse than you
do." Be it understood, without possibility of mistake, that the
Butler referred to was of South Carolina, and not North.

In this, my second term, be it understood, I was up at the
head of the Committee on Agriculture, next to the Chairman,
my old friend, Bill Hatch, and Chairman of the Committee on
Ventilation and Acoustics. One of the first committee was a
muti-millionaire, but one whom I never took to. He took it into
his head to die one day, and Hatch did me the honor to invite
me to preach his Congressional funeral, which I respectfully
declined, remarking: "You know, Hatch, that he and I bore
each other no love in life, and for me now to get up and lavish
eulogium upon him would be the sheerest hypocrisy." He
smilingly returned: "I was afraid you would decline the honor,
but thought it due you, being the

Hatch, be it understood, was Confederate Commissioner of
Exchange, and did his best to effect one for me, but found it a
fruitless effort as favors at that time were not going by kissing.
A glorious fellow he was, but he shortly afterwards passed out
of Congress and over the river to rest in the shade with
Stonewall and the others who had gone before.

On the expiration of my second term I returned home to take
my chance for a third nomination, and it was evident from the
start that it would come with my permission. The district was
hampered with the two-thirds rule and my friends urged its
abrogation, trying to get my consent to its being done. This was
refused on the ground that if two-thirds of my district did not
wish me to continue as their representative, it was immaterial
whether I was selected or not. The record will show that
through 330 consecutive ballots, lasting all night, my majority
was overwhelmingly large and within a small fraction of the
requisite two-thirds, which could not be reached, however,
owing to a combination of opponents and their adherents, who
had attended with the avowed purpose of securing my defeat.
At the hazard of having "sour-grapes" thrown in my teeth, be it
candidly said, that the result occasioned but little regret at the
time and still less since, not caring to be a mere figure-head as
nine out of every ten in the House usually are.

Returning home I found, and have found since, that
satisfaction in my library and fish-pond, which the House of
Representatives failed to bring, which was shortly afterwards
augmented, and has since continued, through the fellowship of
my second wife, and the visits of a few well selected and
honored friends, at the head of whom, as stated before, is
ranked Wade Hampton, noblest Roman of them all. A short

while before his death he stopped by on a visit of a few
days, passed mostly with me at the fish-pond. He soon stated
to Mrs. Green that his object was to get her consent to my
going down to Charleston with him where he was booked for a
speech to the old soldiers, and then to continue out to the
Pacific coast on his private car on a tour of official inspection,
he being at that time United States Commissioner of Railroads.

CHAPTER XVI.

CONCLUSION.

A TRIP TO THE PACIFIC - HOME AGAIN.

Arriving in Washington on the 28th of May, 1895, General
Hampton observed that he had an invitation for me to continue
on with himself and invited party to Chicago to attend the
unveiling of a monument to the Confederate prisoners who had
died there during the war. The party consisted besides himself
of Generals Heth (and daughter) Lomax, (whom I had not seen
before since we were boys at West Point, and his wife,) Butler,
French and Hunton; Colonel Erwin; Majors Conrad (and wife),
Hunter and Mitchell; Mr. Robinson; Captain Littlepage (and
wife); Mrs. Akers, and the two Misses Washington, an
agreeable and congenial party, and having the coach to
ourselves had a most delightful trip to the City on the Lakes,
where we arrived on the morning of the 29th of May and found
a committee of city officials and others at the depot with twelve
or fifteen open carriages to receive and escort the party to the
Palmer House where elegant apartments were prepared for
them.

In the afternoon a largely attended reception was given in the
parlors of the hotel, other distinguished Confederates having
arrived from different points, including Lieutenants-General
Longstreet and Stephen D. Lee. At night a superb banquet of
some three hundred covers was given the party with a fine
band of music in the gallery. As a rule, the after-dinner
speeches on the occasion were good, far above the average.

On the 30th of May we were escorted to the cars in open
carriages as before with a company of cavalry. Took the

train and went out to the World's Fair grounds, where other
carriages took us out to the cemetery. An immense crowd,
estimated at from 30,000 to 40,000, was present, and the best
of order and considerable enthusiasm prevailed during the
exercises. General Hampton made an eloquent speech upon
which he was much complimented.

In the afternoon of the 31st we were escorted in carriages
through the parks, I being assigned to the carriage containing
General French, and Mrs. Akers and Mrs. Hollenberg. In the
evening all of the party, except General Hampton and myself,
started back to Washington, taking my trunk with them by
mistake. A telegram, however, overtook it on the road and
brought it back the next morning.

On June 1st, passed the day in sight-seeing, Senator
McPherson, who was to accompany us, having arrived. Met a
very pleasant acquaintance in Mr. A. B. Meeker, who was
exceedingly polite and attentive. At 11 p. m., started west with
General Hampton and his Secretary, Mr. Thomas, and Senator
McPherson, on the General's special car, well adapted to
comfort and convenience, and with a capital cook and steward.
After a pleasant night's rest and a good breakfast, arrived in
Saint Paul and laid over until the afternoon. Took advantage of
the stop to see the town, and a very pretty one it is.

June 3rd, continued west at forty miles an hour, passing a
good part of the day in playing euchre, McPherson and I
beating the General and Thomas. Good appetite, good cooking
and sound sleep, made me feel better on the morning of the 4th
when we reached Livingston and were switched off to
Yellowstone Park, arriving at the outskirts about 11:00, and
took stage for the Mammoth Springs Hotel. Passed the rest of
the day there, visiting the famous fountains, and so forth. The
wonders of this wonderland begin here, which

words are inadequate to describe. Captain Anderson, of the
Army, who was stationed there with his company in charge of
the park, passed the evening with us, intending to go our way in
the morning for forty miles. He told General Hampton that
he had boat ready for him to fish in up at the geysers, and
would send it up there in the morning. Engaged a coach and
four good horses and started thither the next morning, passing
various objects of interest and curiosity through some of the
wildest and most sublime scenery in the world. Among these
may be mentioned the Obsidiam, or natural glass cliffs, a
quarter of a mile long and rising perpendicularly hundreds of
feet, and numerous boiling, or rather seething, springs of great
magnitude. The lake is as blue as indigo, and there were springs
of arsenic, soda, and Apollinaris. Stopped at a large tent half
way and got a good dinner of Yellowstone trout. As we were
nearing our destination, the fountain, stopped over and fished
for a while, and were joined by Captains Anderson and Scott,
of the U. S. Army, who met us on horseback with a couple of
cavalrymen and refreshments, and made us stop over at their
camp a mile or two beyond and partake of more refreshments.
After supper they called and passed the evening with us.

Shortly after reaching the inn, the fountain-geyser, a quarter
of a mile in front of the hotel, began playing after numerous
premonitory throes, which gave time to see the whole of it and
also the soap caldrons, an excellent imitation of two immense
soap kettles boiling different colored muds. The whole plain in
front of the hotel is covered with geysers and hot springs, the
stream from which could be seen in all directions. There were
good rooms but ordinary table at both of our hotels.

On June 6th, started up to the great geyser basin, eight miles
above, but left General Hampton and Thomas half-way

up on the Fire-Hole River to try the trout, while the Senator and
I kept on to the geyser basin. Some forty or fifty of them are in
view at the same time besides hundreds of hot springs of
immense size. The guide books obviate the necessity of
stereotyped descriptions of these great curiosities, taken as an
entirety, perhaps the greatest in the world. When within half-mile
of General Hampton's halting place, the Senator and I
alighted and fixing up our rods, fished on down the river until
we overtook him half-mile below where he was left. Our entire
catch was forty superb trout, of which the General killed much
the larger number. It was a cold blustering day, blowing at
times almost a blizzard, and taking my new hat off into the river
and almost taking the head after it. Retired hoping for better
weather and better luck on the morrow, a hope doomed to
disappointment as the ground was covered with snow and the
mercury down to freezing point. Owing to that fact, it was
decided to start back. On arriving at the tent of two days
before, found some twenty tourists waiting to go further
inwards, a few like ourselves, however, returning. On reaching
the Mammoth Springs Hotel, at the entrance to the park, it was
decided to keep on farther to the railroad depot and catch the
train, which we did at 7:00 p. m.

June 8th, made some seven hundred miles passing through
the bad lands of Montana, the most desolate and God-forsaken
country that mortal eyes ever rested upon, composed of high
hills on every side without the vestige of vegetation and almost
void of animal life, but the most grotesque and picturesque
shapes. Later on passed Bismarck, Helena, and other mining
places, having entered a more inviting section of the country.
Senator McPherson left us last night at Livingston, and
returned to Washington, leaving us to continue the journey
westward.

picturesque country, but without material incident. In the
afternoon had a long visit from General Kautz, an old West
Point acquaintance of mine and an old adversary of General
Hampton. Passed Lake Pend d'Oreille, the most beautiful sheet
of water that I ever saw, and also had Mount Hood, Mount
Tacoma, and other famous peaks in view, all covered with
snow. Arrived at Portland at 7:00 p. m., and moved from our
car up to the Portland hotel and set about seeing the city, a
very pretty one of some hundred thousand inhabitants. Went up
on the heights overlooking the town by cable-car at the
heaviest gradient ever yet achieved. The view from the top
was superb in the extreme with the famous mountains, already
named, in the background. The General had numerous callers,
and after they had left he and I sat up and talked until bed time.
Gave up our old ear and had another assigned to us for to-morrow.

June 11th: Started at 7 :00 a. m., and ran down to Oregon
City, a manufacturing place of about five thousand having the
famous falls of the Williamette River just above, a miniature
Niagara, fully as wide and one-third as high. Here we were
side-tracked and took boat for the falls to try the salmon, for
which the were famous. Had no luck in the morning although
saw hundreds of big ones trying to jump the falls, the river
being a perfect torrent. Went back to the car and lunched, and
I took a stroll on the plain above, a precipitous bluff reached by
long flights of stairs two or three hundred feet high. On the
summit, a level tableland, is a lovely village full of fruits, flowers
and vegetables. On descending, went back to the falls where I
had a strike that took out nearly fifty yards of my line and
burned thumb and fingers sharply. After playing him two hours
and his carrying the boat over a mile, the General succeeded in
gaffing and getting him aboard, berating me in the meanwhile
for not

killing him sooner so that we could go back and catch a bigger
one. He weighed fifteen pounds, and was the gamest fish that I
have ever tackled. Passed a quiet evening on the car after a
julep and a capital dinner.

June 12th: Colonel W. G. Curtis, General Manager of
Southern Pacific R. R., and wife arrived with his special car
from San Francisco to meet and take us back with them later in
the day. Will have more to say of this amiable couple. The
General took breakfast with them and then went back to the
falls, they continuing on to Portland, twelve miles further on, but
all meeting about 12:00 m., the General with a nineteen-and-a-
half pound salmon. Our car hitched on behind Colonel Curtis's
special engine, and his car to ours, and we started on a seven
hundred and fifty mile ride to San Francisco, passing through an
extensive and beautiful valley along the banks of the
Williamette. It was hard to realize that this beautiful and
well-developed land was a wild region described by Captain
Bonneville less than a hundred years before on his famous tour
of exploration. Stopped over in the afternoon and fished in the
Umphpual River. While standing on the saw mill above saw
large salmon trying every instant to jump the dam just below us,
hut were not prepared for them as we were only trouting.
Later returned to our little train, had an elaborate dinner on Mr.
Curtis's car, played euchre until bed time, and then retired. The
following afternoon moved on to the headwaters of the
Sacramento, a kindred stream, and tried that with like success.
Ran back a few miles to Castle Craig, a precipitous rock, said
to be a mile and a quarter high without the slightest sign of
earth or vegetation on it, and halted for the night on the cars.
After a fine dinner, preluded with a julep, played euchre until
bed time and then retired for a good night's sleep, with the
raging river just beside us for our lullaby.

June 14th: This being the anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis'
wedding day, it was voted to pass it where we then were, than
which a more picturesque place could not have been found
within the borders, nearby the lofty rock of Castle Craig and
Mount Shasta, one of the highest peaks on the Continent,
seventeen thousand, five hundred feet above sea-level, and
covered with snow, and the Sacramento rushing below in a
perfect torrent; while on the other side of the road, towering
above, was an almost perpendicular bluff over a thousand feet
high. After breakfast Colonel Curtis and I walked over to the
Castle Craig Tavern, half a mile off through beautiful grounds
and flower gardens. This is an elegant summer resort, capable
of accommodating some six or eight hundred guests, with
extensive walks and drives.

June 15th: Followed the Sacramento down until dark,
stopping to fish wherever any spot looked inviting for that
purpose. During the morning came to a bend in the road by
which four-and-a-half miles brought the train back to within
half a mile of the starting point and some five hundred feet
below, at a famous spring much like the Deep Rock water
which we had been using on the train. There was an attractive
little hotel added by the railroad, and an exceedingly high water
jet natural, from the mountains above, which was made to play
for our edification. Mrs. Curtis and I walked down from the
halting place above by a narrow path through the woods,
passing numerous large springs whose flow unites further
down, forming a lovely moss-covered cascade just below the
spring. Nature did her level best to make this an ideal spot, the
grounds of which belong to the railroad. The river runs right in
front of the hotel. Dined and fished until sundown, moving on
along the stream (Sacramento). Then gave up our engine
and hitched on to the express train which came along for
San Francisco.

June 16th, Sunday: Passed through one of the most fertile
sections of country on the globe - the Sacramento Valley -
every acre of which seemed teeming with luxuriant ripe wheat
as far as the eye could reach. This continued for fully three
hundred miles, interspersed here and there with orchards, small
fruits, vegetable gardens, and hundreds of miles in extent,
shade trees and flowers. Entered San Joaquin, a kindred valley,
at right angles, lower down. About 5:00 p. m., reached the
town of Oakland, opposite San Francisco, and leaving our
cosy accommodations with a tinge of regret, took an immense
ferry-boat and passed over to the last-named place. We
were driven up to the Palace Hotel almost without a rival as a
city hostelry, and assigned to elegant apartments with every
convenience. The next day Thomas and I took the electric car
out to the Cliff, a bold eminence looking out on the Pacific. Felt
something of a Balboa's exultation on first seeing this grandest
of all oceans; the shores were crowded with bathers, and the
rocks with seals. Farther on is an immense bath-house, fed
from the ocean and capable of seating twenty thousand lookers-on.
On the way out took a hack and passed an hour in the park,
nothing to boast of except in its flora, unique and diversified.
Much has been done in developing it however, as it was but a
succession of barren sand hills and banks only a short while
ago. Passed the evening quietly with General Hampton, who
was complaining much of a pain in his shoulder occasioned by
an old accident. Met his medical attendant there, Dr. M.
Gardner, a very entertaining man, cousin of General Gardner,
C. S. A., the Port Hudson, celebrity. Some of the gradients
on the electric and cable street railway are fearful to ascend
and descend until used to them, suggesting angles of 30, and
even 45 degrees. Dined with Bill Foote, Captain Brice, of the
Navy, Major Schofield, of the Army, and two young men,

the sons of Claus Spreckles, the sugar king of the Sandwich
Islands. After dinner the first three named volunteered to show
me the slums of Chinatown under the escort of Colonel
Crowley, Chief of Police of the city, and three of his
subordinates. Such squalor, filth and degradation, it is impossible
to describe or even to conceive of as we saw here huddled
together in this seething hive of forty thousand Mongolians;
closets ten or twelve feet square furnished sleeping rooms for
as many human beings, if such wretches can be so called, and
frequently two and three stories under ground, reached by
ladders, and not ten feet in dip. And yet we were told by the
other two gentlemen, who had been there before, that we did
not begin to see the worst phases of it, the police sergeants
fearing to let the chief into their vilest dens and secrets of these
horrible purlieus lest he should call them to account for being
cognizant of them. Went to one of their theatres and sat half an
hour on the stage, not the slightest elevation of tone or change
of facial muscle marked either of the actors during the
performance. Apparently it was all pure hum-drum repetition.

The next day Mrs. Curtis, by appointment, took me through
the shopping district, and better part generally of Chinatown.
Bad enough this even under a noonday's sun, but what a
contrast for the better to last night's horrors. Cannot blame
these Pacific coast folks for insisting on keeping these people
out. They may excite our pity, but there is contagion in their
touch. Passed the rest of the day in strolling through the city
and taking in the sights. Was surprised to see so little shipping
of the better sort at the wharves. At night accepted an
invitation of General P. M. B. Young, the then Minister to
Guatemala, to accompany him and two ladies to the theatre,
where he had secured a private box; an agreeable party and a
most interesting comedy. After

the performance we all took a light supper at the Palace Hotel
restaurant.

June 21st: Met a number of agreeable acquaintances and
passed a very pleasant day. Took dinner with Judge Foote in
company with General Young at the University Club, an
enjoyable affair. By the way, have been honored with
invitations and the freedom of all the leading clubs of the city
for two weeks. After dinner General Young and I called on
Mrs. Catherwood, the daughter of Chief Justice Hastings, of
California, and an old friend of my father in the early days of
the State, and, if report be true, a million heiress many times
told. She was certainly a highly gifted and intellectual woman.

June 22nd: By invitation General Hampton and I passed the
day at Palo Alto, the princely home of Mrs. Leland Stanford
and about two miles from Meno Station. Our car was tacked
on to the express train and switched off at Menlo, where we
met carriages sent for us and likewise for Judge Field and
family of the United States Supreme Court. He failed to arrive,
but his sister-in-law, Mrs. Condit-Smith, and daughter did. After
an elegant breakfast, were driven out to the stables containing
seven hundred superb specimens of horse-flesh, for one of
which the late owner refused $150,000, and a four-weeks old
colt, his son, was now under consideration on an offer of
$7,500. The finest specimens of the stable were put through
their paces for our inspection, including the kindergarten or
juvenile samples of the lot. They were put through their paces
with the precision of the circus although only one and two years
old. From there drove out to the Leland Stanford University, the
noblest monument ever erected by man to commemorate an
honored relative, twenty millions of dollars, the bequest in
memory of his son. Cecilia Metella is here far outclassed in lavish
display. Took

an early dinner with our hospitable entertainer, and then took
train for Monterey, arriving at the world-famed Del Monte at
6:00 p. m., where elegant apartments were awaiting us. Taken
as a whole, it surpasses all of the caravansaries that I have
ever seen, and that imports the finest on two continents. The
building proper, it is true, does not come up to the Ponce de
Leon and its surroundings, but the grounds were an immense
flower garden, far transcending it or any private or ducal home
that I ever saw in Europe. Our being the invited guests of the
establishment, with best quarters, was not calculated to
lessen appreciation. After breakfast Colonel Curtis and myself
took an eighteen-mile drive around Monterey Bay, an adjunct of
the hotel and most picturesque one it is, alternately overlooking
the ocean with the breakers lashed into fury at our feet, and
then branching off into primeval tropical forest. Passed through
the old town of Monterey, which looks as if it had not
undergone the slightest change since first laid off and turned out
by the old Mission Fathers. The first legislature of California
was held here in 1849-50, my father being a member of the
then State Senate. On the way back to the hotel examined the
famous salt-water baths, enclosing perhaps half an acre in
space and artificially heated, with three or four large swimming
pools. After strolling through the grounds and enjoying a superb
dinner, took train for Santa Clara, on the other side of the bay,
where our car was side-tracked, remaining aboard until Monday
morning (to-morrow) in order to try the salmon in the bay, now
in full season.

June 24th: Was up bright and early and soon several miles
out on salt water from the shore, the sea running high. I hooked
a ten-foot shark and brought him alongside, but he snapped the
line and escaped. It should have been premised that while
there we were the guests of the California Fish

Commissionsioner. We had boats, tackle and boatmen, placed
at our service.

June 25th: Started about 7:00 a. m., with face turned
homeward, much to my satisfaction, for notwithstanding the
past month had been one of the most enjoyable of travels that it
is possible to imagine, I was beginning to feel most terribly
homesick. Am sure I was not cut out for a circumnavigator or
globe-trotter. The home instinct is too strong in me. Passed
over to Oakland, enjoying the magnificent bay and splendid
view.

The return trip was monotonous, with nothing worth
chronicling excepting the immense snow-sheds miles in extent,
and constructed to guard against snow avalanches which are
liable to crush trains in their downward rush.

At Marshalltown, Iowa, had a brief interview with my wife's
sister, Mrs. Heitshu, living in that place, who came down with
her husband and son to insist upon my stopping over and paying
them a visit, which had to be disregarded owing to the strong
home-impulse which had taken possession of me. On reaching
Chicago, was brought in contact with the author of a book that
I had been reading on the way, which was then creating a
sensation throughout the country, termed "Coin;" found him an
exceedingly interesting and well informed man.

After reaching home, passed the next few weeks in a
hum-drum, monotonous sort of life, mainly spent in the library
and in reminiscence.

Two years later my daughter (Sarah) and son-in-law, Mr.
and Mrs. Pembroke Jones, having gone off to Europe on one of
their periodical jaunts, insisted upon our going down to their
country-place, near Wilmington, known as "Airlie," and passing
the summer by the sea. This was done with the additional
incentive that General Hampton agreed to join us there

and pass it with us, and with the further inducement that my
youngest daughter, Mabel, lately married, was living near by
with her husband's parents, Colonel and Mrs. Warren Elliott.

My health beginning to fail, a little later on, we determined to
pass the summer at Lincoln Lithia Springs, near Lincolnton,
North Carolina, with General Hoke and his agreeable
family, and this brings a dull story to near an end, the
subsequent time having been spent on our home place
'Tokay' with my wife and second daughter, Carrie, who has
never married.

Frequent visits from agreeable friends have served to
while away the tedium of country life, if tedium could be
associated with such. Odd half-hours of the time have been
devoted to putting my lucubrations on paper with the view of
having them consigned to printer's ink. Many of these have
been preserved in huge scrap-books by my devoted wife,
some of which will be given by way of appendix in the
present volume.

A projected visit in the recent past was from four of my old
West Point classmates, namely, Generals G. W. C. Lee,
Stephen D. Lee, O. O. Howard, and Henry L. Abbott, whose
average age had passed the three score and fifteen mark, and
whose rank, age and historical record are remarkable.
Circumstances precluded the coming of all save General
Abbott, who passed a couple of days under my roof in most
interesting converse of our school boy days.

And such is my little life's story as recalled, one full of petty
vicissitudes and much to be thankful for. The world has been
most kind and indulgent to me, overlooking my faults and
shortcomings. The general tenor of my life has been to
reciprocate in kind, and has been comparatively free from
bathos, hypocrisy, affectation and duplicity, though I

say it myself. If in its course I have ever wantonly
injured any man, it is with deep regret that I recall it.

I have been unusually blessed with two loving and considerate
helpmates, and with amiable and devoted children and
grand-children, the comfort and solace of declining age. Never
having been of a grasping mind, I have had a modest sufficiency
of this world's gear.

My self-imposed task, begun in whim or caprice on the
dawning day of a new born century, over six and a half years
ago, and resumed at spasmodic intervals of months, and even
years, is done, and let me hope that it will prove more
satisfactory to a few valued readers, than it does to the writer.
Fate, good fortune or blind circumstance brought me in contact,
if not friendship, with many of the historical characters of a
most historic epoch, for which I am duly thankful, and to lay my
little sprig of immortelle upon the biers of such, was the
actuating impulse of this impotent undertaking.
Charlatans and pretenders, who have attained ephemeral
notoriety have likewise fallen within the range of vision and
been scored or ignored, according to the prominence of assinine
claim and assumption.

My nature has ever been a mosaic or composite of opposites.
The amiable, counterbalanced by the assertive, the
conciliatory by the combative, unswerving faith in the teaching
and dicta of the infallible Master with lax conformity to the
precept. Per contra and as partial offset, I have never
designedly injured my fellowman, hut tried to do him an
occasional service in a quiet, simple way. The post-bellum
millenium, so discernible to the eyes of others, has never
reached my optics. For forty years the day has never dawned
on which my preference could be given, "in foro conscientiae,"
for the new order of things over those of early remembered
days; for fortune surpassing conception over

those of handgrasp measure, with attendant substitution of
vulgarity for gentility, of concentration for diffusion, of arrogance
for civility. No, I am not sufficiently complacent yet, to sing
pæans to so-called prosperity, which is loathed, despised,
detested and accursed, over the finest civilization that the world
has ever known, or can ever know. Let that patriotic assumption
be devolved on those more ambitious to wear it. For one it is not
prerogative of mine, nor is it craved. If I know myself, there
never was a drop of hypocricy, duplicity or double dealing in the
blood of my mother's son. Not that any claim is made to
apotheosis after death on that score. It is simply an innate
preference for the cotton field over the cotton mill and its
concomitants: for a simple and natural order of things over a
gigantic artificial, which with its varied appliances for absorption
and concentration, has according to high statistical authority,
placed it within the power of three and thirty thousand
individuals, within three and forty years to amass over one-half
of the aggregate wealth of the entire republic numbering fully
three and eighty millions of inhabitants. To my pessimistic
forecast, granting the correctness of Mr. Sherman's figures,
even in the proximate, the fate of the great modern republic is as
infallibly sealed as was that of the great ancient, when six
hundred plutocratic nabobs came to own Rome, which meant to
all intents the world. How can patriotism and love of country,
without which free states are but as eggshells, survive for long
such an abnormal condition of affairs? When it supervenes, a
thousand Catos and Bruti cannot long postpone the inevitable
fall. More appalling this than all of the other dangers combined,
colonization included, that can undermine free states by covert
assault; the condition that faces us: "where wealth accumulates,
and men decay," with such unprecedented rapidity is the sure
precursor of the impending

Not high-raised battlement or labored mound,
Thick wall or moated gate:
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned;
Not bays or broad, armed ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;
Not starred and spangled courts,
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No: men, high-minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued,
In forest, brake, or den,
As brutes excel cold rocks and brambles rude:
Men who their duties know,
But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain.
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
And crush the tyrant; while they rend the chain;
These constitute a state.

Yes, it is the facility of acquisition and the facility of
divorce that has sapped so-called society, made it a stench in
the nostrils of the better sort, and forced them to despair of the
fate of the Republic, as God help me, I cannot help doing. Who
can help being pessimistic? The few millionaires of that day
being reckoned by the thousands, or tens of thousands of the
multi-kind sort in this. Old Cornelius, usually known as
Commodore, was one of the three or four of the first kind, who
were reputed to be the possessors of two, or three or four
millions each on the broad American continent, as the following
incident will go to show. He and my father were friends and
cronies during the latter years of their lives. One evening on
going to an entertainment in Washington with the two, and Mrs.
Cross, the daughter of the first, General Green remarked, "My
son, here is the luckiest man in the world; the father of about a
dozen grown children, and able to leave each one of them a
million of dollars." To which came the

reply, "Not so, nor the half of it." At the time of his death, it
was generally supposed that the head of that Medicean house
could have bequeathed each one of a dozen, a half-a-dozen
millions, and left them all far removed from penury, or the
residuary legatee either. The incident is simply mentioned to
illustrate the ease of acquisition under our paternal idea of
protection, when once the foundation is laid by a man of sense
and long outreach. Heaven help the herd, the special breed is
getting to be a fraction a little over-prolific. Whence that
reverberant call for fodder just ahead?

Another little incident pertinent to the same, and
notwithstanding his countless and constantly increasing millions,
professing contempt for superfluous wealth. One afternoon at
Saratoga, Commodore Vanderbilt invited me to take a drive
with Mrs. Vanderbilt and himself out to "the lake" and on the
road remarked in his brusque, off-hand way: "Before you
fellows down south played the fool, and tried to kick out of
harness, you ought to have been the happiest and most
contented people in the world." "And so we were, Commodore,"
came the reply, "until you fellows up north, resolved to kick us
out." "And do you really think," my young friend, "that we are to
blame for that needless shedding of blood?" "If I did not," was
the reply, "conscience would never cease to reproach me for
having shouldered a musket in support of what was professed,
an undying regret at having to lay it down before the dream was
dreamt out." "Yes," he continued, "you lived in peace, plenty,
and content, like rational folks, and as your fathers did before
you, without breaking your necks, like a pack of idiots, by
striving to double needless possession." Here was a high
compliment, and a sad commentary in juxtaposition, over the
impending and inevitable doom of Free Government, through
aggregation and concentration of hoard, by him whose sum total of

accumulation to-day for his house, less than a generation after
he, the old ferryman across to Staten Island, had paid his obolus
to a predecessor in the trade, Charon by name, who has pulled
the oars from the birth of time across a murky stream yclept,
THE STYX, and will continue to ply them till time shall be no
more. Which of the two amassed most of this world's dross,
the man of Syndicates or he of the Oboli, let others determine.
Socially and individually, it's a matter of little consequence.
Politically and in boundless aggregation, it imports, as said, the
death-knell of free government. Perhaps both long since
reached the conclusion of Israel's wise king, and another who
shall be nameless, VANITAS VANITATUM.

For a few other data, reliance must be had on the historian
and the poet, to describe a few of the surviving monuments of
the past. Says Byron after Bede:

Rome and her ruin past redemption's skill,
The world the same wide den - of thieves, or what ye will.

* * * * * * *

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime -
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,
From Jove to Jesus - spared and blest by time;
Looking tranquility, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods
His way through thorns to askes - glorious dome!
Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrant's rods
Shiver upon thee - sanctuary and home
Of art and piety - Pantheon! pride of Rome."

And thus says the stateliest of historians to one of the
greatest of poets over the grandest of antiquities.

APPENDIX.

Having been all my
life long a scribbler for the public prints, I
venture to add a few of these by way of appendix.

During my European
tour I was a pretty regular contributor
to the Boston Herald by request of the editor. Most of these
letters have passed out of reach; some few, however, have
been preserved and, by way of contrast in style between the
boy and the man, are here inserted. The first was written from
Venice, the next from Rome, the third from Naples, and the
last from Thebes. They are given, as said, simply as samples of
early style and impression, and are, perhaps, a little fulsome and
bombastic on that account.

Divers articles on other subjects will be added as near in
categorical order as it is possible to recall. The views
expressed may be crude, but are positive, for my nature
through life has been a strange combination of the
amiable and the assertive, and every utterance ever put on
paper is the natural expression of heartfelt feeling.

[Ex-President Davis' last paper of a public nature, written from a sick bed
just five weeks before his death. The occasion - The Centennial Celebration
of the Ratification, by North Carolina, of the Constitution of the United
States, at Fayetteville, November 21st, 1889.]

GENTLEMEN: - You letter inviting me to attend North
Carolina's Centennial, to be held at Fayetteville, on the 21st of
November next, was duly received; but this acknowledgment
has been delayed under the hope that an improvement in my
health would enable me to be present as invited. As the time
approaches, I find that cherished hope unrealized, and that I
must regretfully confess my inability to join you in the
commemorative celebration.

It has been my sincere wish to meet the people of the "Old
North State" on the occasion which will naturally cause them,
with just pride, to trace the historic river of their years to its
source in the colony of Albemarle.

All along that river stand monuments of fidelity to the
unalienable rights of the people - even when an infant
successfully resisting executive usurpation and in defence of
the privileges guaranteed by charter, boldly defying Kings,
Lords and Commons. Always self-reliant, yet not vainly
self-asserting, she provided for her defence, while giving material
aid to her neighbors, as she regarded all the British Colonies of
America.

Thus she sent troops, armed and equipped for service, into
both Virginia and South Carolina, also dispatched a ship from
the port of Wilmington, with food for the sufferers in Boston,
after the closing of that port by Great Britain. In her declaration
that the cause of Boston was the cause of all, there was not
only the assertion of a community of rights and a purpose to
defend them, but self-abnegation of the commercial advantages
which would probably accrue from the closing of a rival port.

Without diminution of regard for the great and good men of
the other colonies, I have been led to special veneration for

the men of North Carolina, as the first to distinctly declare for
State independence, and from first to last to uphold the right
of a people to govern themselves.

I do not propose to discuss the vexed question of the
Mecklenburg resolutions of May, 1775, which, from the
similarity of expression to the great Declaration of
Independence, of July, 1776, have created much contention,
because the claim of North Carolina rests on a broader
foundation than the resolves of the meeting at Mecklenburg,
which deserve to be preserved as the outburst of a brave,
liberty-loving people, on receipt of news of the combat at
Concord, between British soldiers and citizens of
Massachusetts. The broader foundations referred to are the
records of events preceding and succeeding the meeting at
Mecklenburg, and the proceedings of the Provincial Congress,
which met at Hillsboro, in August, 1775. Before this
Congress convened, North Carolina, in disregard of
opposition by the Governor, had sent delegates to represent her
in the General Congress, to be held in Philadelphia, and had
denounced the attack upon Boston, and had appointed
committees of safety with such far-reaching functions as
belong to revolutionary times only.

The famous Stamp Act of Parliament was openly resisted by
men of highest reputation, a vessel, bringing stamps, was seized
and the commander bound not to permit them to be landed.
These things were done in open day by men who wore no
disguise and shunned no question.

Before the Congress of the Province had assembled, the last
royal Governor of North Carolina had fled to escape from the
indignation of a people, who burdened but not bent by
oppression, had resolved to live or die as freemen. The
Congress at Hillsboro went earnestly to work, not merely to
declare independence, but to provide means for maintaining it.
The Congress, feeling quite equal to the occasion, proceeded to
make laws for raising and organizing troops, for supplying
money, and to meet the contingencies of a blockade of her
seaports, offered bounties to stimulate the production of articles
most needful in time of war. On the 12th of April, 1776, the
Continental Congress being then in session, and

with much diversity of opinion as to the proper course to be
pursued under this condition of affairs, the North Carolina
Congress resolved, "That the delegates for this colony in the
Continental Congress be empowered to concur with the
delegates of the other colonies in declaring independence and
forming foreign alliances, reserving to this colony the sole and
exclusive right of forming a constitution and laws for this
colony, &c., &c."

This, I believe, was the first distinct declaration for
separation from Great Britain and State independence, and
there is much besides priority to evoke admiration. North
Carolina had, by many acts of resistance to the British
authorities, provoked their vengeance, yet she dared to lead in
defiance, but no danger, however dread, in the event of her
isolation, could make her accept co-operation, save with the
reservation of supremacy in regard to her own constitution and
laws, the sacred principle of community independence and
government founded on the consent of the governed. After
having done her whole duty in the war for Independence and
become a free, sovereign and independent State, she entered
into the Confederation with these rights and powers recognized
and unabridged.

When experience proved the articles of Confederation to be
inadequate to the needs of good government, she agreed to a
general convention for their amendment. The convention did
not limit its labors to amendment of the article, but proceeded to
form a new plan of government, and adhering to the cardinal
principle that governments must be derived from the consent of
the governed, submitted the new plan to the people of the
several States, to be adopted or rejected as each by and for
itself should decide.

It is to be remembered that the articles of Confederation for
the "United States of America" declared that "the union shall be
perpetual," and that no alteration should be made in the said
articles unless it should be "confirmed by the legislatures of
every State." True to her creed of State sovereignty, North
Carolina recognized the power of such States as chose to do so
to withdraw from the Union, and by the same token her own
unqualified right to decide whether or not

she would subscribe to the proposed compact for a more
perfect union, and in which it is to be observed the declaration
for perpetuity was omitted. In the hard school of experience
she had learned the danger to popular liberty from a
government which could claim to be the final judge of its own
powers.

She had fought a long and devastating war for State
independence, and was not willing to put in jeopardy the
priceless jewel she had gained. After careful examination it
was concluded that the proposed Constitution did not
sufficiently guard against usurpation by the usual resort to
implication of powers not expressly granted, and declined to act
upon the general assurance that the deficiency would soon be
supplied by the needful amendments.

In the meantime State after State had acceded to the new
Union, until the requisite number had been obtained for the
establishment of the "Constitution between the States so
ratifying the same."

With characteristic self-reliance, North Carolina confronted
the prospect of isolation, and calmly resolved, if so it must be,
to stand alone rather than subject to hazard her most prized
possession, Community Independence.

Confiding in the security offered by the first ten
Amendments to the Constitution, especially the 9th and 10th of
the series, North Carolina voluntarily acceded to the new
Union. The 10th Amendment restricted the functions of the
Federal Government to the exercise of the powers delegated to
it by the States, all of which were especially stipulated.

Beyond that limit nothing could be done rightfully. If covertly
done, under color of law, or by reckless usurpation of an
extraneous majority, which, feeling power, should disregard
right, had the State no peaceful remedy? Could she as a State
in a Confederation, the bed-rock of which is the consent of its
members, be bound by a compact which others broke to her
injury? Had her reserved rights no other than a paper barrier to
protect them against invasion?

Surely the heroic patriots and wise statesmen of North
Carolina, by their sacrifices, utterances and deeds, have shown
what their answer would have been to these questions,

if they had been asked, on the day when in convention they
ratified the amended Constitution of the United States. Her
exceptional delay in ratification marks her vigilant care for
rights she had so early asserted and so steadily maintained.

Of her it may be said, as it was of Sir Walter Scott in his
youth that he was "always the first in a row and the last out of
it." In the peaceful repose which followed the Revolution all her
interests were progressive.

Farms, school-houses and towns rose over a subdued
wilderness, and with a mother's joy she saw her sons
distinguished in the public service, by intelligence, energy and
perseverance, and by the integrity without which all other gifts
are but as tinsel. North Carolina grew apace in all which
constitutes power, until 1812, when she was required as a State
of the Union to resist aggression on the high seas in the
visitation of American merchant vessels and the impressment
of American seamen by the armed cruisers of Great Britain.

These seamen generally belonged to the New England
States; none probably were North Carolinians; but her old spirit
was vital still; the cause of one was the cause of all, as she
announced when Boston was under embargo.

At every roll-call for the common defense she answered,
"Here." When blessed peace returned she stacked her arms for
which she had had no prospective use. Her love for her
neighbors had been tried and not found wanting in the time of
their need: why should she anticipate hostility from them?

The envy, selfish jealousy and criminal hate of a Cain could
not come near to her heart. If not to suspect such vice in others
be indiscreet credulity, it is a knightly virtue and part of an
honest nature. In many years of military and civil service it has
been my good fortune to know the sons of North Carolina
under circumstances of trial, and could make a list of those
deserving honorable mention which would too far extend this
letter, already, I fear, tediously long.

Devotion to principle, self-reliance and inflexible adherence
to resolution when adopted, accompanied by conservative
caution, were the characteristics displayed by North Carolina in
both her colonial and State history. All these qualities were
exemplified in her action on the day of the anniversary

which you commemorate. If there be any not likely to be found
with you, but possibly elsewhere, who shall ask: "How then
could North Carolina consistently enact her ordinance of
secession in 1861?" he is referred to the Declaration of
Independence of 1776; to the Articles of Confederation of
1777, for a perpetual union of the States, and the secession of
States from the union so established; to the treaty of 1783,
recognizing the independence of the States, severally and
distinctively; to the Constitution of the United States, with its
first ten amendments; to the time-honored resolutions of 1798-99;
that from these, one and all, he may learn that the State,
having won her independence by heavy sacrifices, had never
surrendered it nor had ever attempted to delegate the
unalienable rights of the people. How valiantly her sons bore
themselves in the War between the States the list of the killed
and wounded testify. She gave them a sacrificial offering on
the altar of the liberties their fathers had won and left as an
inheritance to their posterity. Many sleep far from the land of
their nativity. Peace to their ashes. Honor to their memory and
the mother who bore them.

Dear Herald: "The Queen of the Adriatic," and "the bride of
the sea," has been mine hostess for upwards of a week.
Venice, proud Venice, magnifique
of other days, the dignity of
whose elective chief once outshone that of the first hereditary
magnates of the world, and whose power was alike feared and
respected wherever her name had penetrated, is at present our
abiding place. All my life long I have had a longing desire to see
the city of the doges, the commercial republic which rose for a
day, like a brilliant meteor, to sink into an utter night and
insignificance. At length I am gratified. In front of my window
is the Grand Canal, in sight the Rialto; the house in which I
lodge was the palace of one of her best and wisest chief
magistrates, Loredano by name. Yes, I stand in the midst of
Venice and ponder over a host of historical recollections, of
which she was the stage. My reading had invested it with a
supernatural charm and almost induced me to believe it as
rather the conception of poets and romancers than the bona fide
city built with marble, brick and mortar. In perusing the thrilling
chapter of the world's history, detailing her splendor and
magnificence, her victories, mysteries, and crimes, I have been
all but tempted to pronounce it a hoax, and the very existence of
such a place a myth. Her constitution, more wonderful even
than our own, inasmuch as it was a greater deviation from all
precedent, I regarded it as the cunningly concocted phantasma
of some political lunatic, and unhesitatingly pronounced the
"Giunta" and the "Ten," the
great council and the small, the doge
and the dungeons, "canards" of undoubted authenticity. But
since visiting this extraordinary place and seeing with my own
eyes the relics of the state of things implying the existence of
the foregoing, my doubts have vanished like a morning mist
before a meridian sun, and I can now gulp the whole, and aye,
even more. On every side palaces of regal magnificence arise,
the abodes in days of "republican simplicity" of the patrician
nobles and royal merchants, her Foscaris and Morisinis,
Basaros, and Antonios (the last, of course, by poetical license.)

Today "I stood upon the bridge of sighs" and dived deep into
the loathsome dungeons of accursed tyranny, from

which it leads. Yesterday, the hill where sat the "Council of
Ten" (with the aperture in the wall through which were inserted
through the "Lion's mouth" those infamous anonymous
accusations which many of her best and bravest sons
answered with their heads), the Senate Chamber, the
apartments of the doge, the giants, and the golden staircases, all
submitted to our scrutiny.

The first-named room interested me most, as being that in
which accustomed to assemble that dread mysterious tribunal
(so secret in its operations that the very members who
composed it were unknown to the outside world), instituted as a
curb upon overweening ambition, a check upon "those haught
traitors who would by treason mount to tyranny, but which, in
course of time, itself merged into the most odious of tyrannies,
the most heartless of despotisms; thus conclusively
demonstrating, as did the "Thirty of Athens" and French
"assemblee nationale"
of '91 and '92, that tyranny exists
irrespective of the form of government - in republics as in
monarchies, in parliaments as in individuals.

Aye! power is indeed a dangerous thing by whomsoever
wielded. When tolerated, it is ever used; when used, almost
invariably abused. Ought not we then of Constitutional America
be pardoned, nay more, applauded, for our proverbial jealousy
of strong government to the extent, in fact, of denying or
canvassing those powers in our representatives absolutely
essential to the ends of government? In my opinion, where that
jealousy ceases, tyranny begins; when it ceases, it ought to
begin. For reflection teaches that there is a natural proneness in
the human mind to usurp all powers granted, and where naught
is granted, not guaranteed by fundamental law, the people are
untrue to themselves and undeserving the boon of freedom.
Such concessions constitute dangerous precedents which, like
the Grecian horse let in, may open the gates to others.
Therefore, I would say, let our motto be "States rights and strict
construction, now and forever," and to that standard will I pin
my faith and resolve that stand or fall, sink or swim, survive or
perish, I'll know no other political creed. Let no silvery-tongued
political Jesuit persuade us to adopt that vile heresy
that the "ends justify the

means," and the attainment of a great good justify a slight
dereliction from the strict letter of the law. That belief has in
all ages proved the very best pavior to anarchy and
despotism, or, to use a more strong and emphatic figure, the
most efficacious battering-ram against paper bulwarks and
constitutional barriers. Let us repudiate it and its counsellors as
we would a summons to commit parricide.

I know of no subject so fraught with serious reflection as the
birth and death of states, and will, therefore, presume a moment
further upon your time in pursuing it. To what owed the defunct
republic of Venice its rise? Any schoolboy can answer.
Commerce was her tributary and slave of the lamp. She made
it her pet paramount for a couple of centuries, and then without
seeming to withdraw her support permitted it to pine, wither,
and die.

There is material for the historian in the decadence of
Venice, and a future Gibbon would not be unprofitably
employed in tracing its origin, progress, and
finale. Such a story
would apply to Genoa as to Venice; to Florence as to Genoa;
to all of the Italian medæval republics as to either. It is the old
story of the decline of men and the subsequent decline of
states. In my humble judgment, it was not the loss of her Indian
trade, as most supposed, which sent her toppling from her giddy
height like a drunken giant. The loss of that, which has proved
the making of every state that ever possessed it, was the
consequence, not the cause, of her declension. The possession
of it, in her case, was a doubtful good.

It was Bacon, I believe, who said that "In the infancy of
states arms flourish, then commerce, then art, then the three."
Venice is an exemplification of this truism. Like an unbidden
guest, she made her entree unannounced into the council of
nations, so sudden was her coming. In her beginnings, as in
those of most other great empires, arms were respected and
the knowledge of their use held most honorable. This sentiment
called into existence her invincible citizen soldiery, her Dandolos
and Falieros, her Orsinis, and Pisanis, and men of kindred
stamp, who held the proud Moslem in check, and their country
in esteem.

But this race gave place to another; the soldiers made way
for the merchants, the merchants for the artists, the artists for
the foplings, and her ruin was complete. Commerce to which
she owed her rise, she likewise owed her fall. Her good turned
to be her evil genius, her comforter her curse. It opened the
channel through which flowed that luxury and voluptuousness
of the Orient which sapped her ancient virtue and blasted her
quondam greatness. Yes! That luxury, which has proved the
destruction of more states than saltpetre and all the engines of
war combined, undoubtedly subverted Venice. May not other
republics profit by the warning?

And now, having devoted so much space to a disquisition of
the Venice of other days, what shall we say of the Venice of
the present? Nothing; for the simple reason that nothing good
can be said except that she wears well the yoke. The same
black, funeral-like gondolas and rascally gondoliers, the same
narrow, filthy alleys and squalid beggars; the same horde of
priestly drones and hosts of Austrian soldiers - all are here as
they have been time out of mind. And now, adios, adios, for the
porter is at the door and we are off for Padua. From Florence,
you may, perhaps hear from me again, and receive a
description instead of a disquisitional letter. In haste,

Yours truly,

Naples,
February 13, 1859.

Dear Herald: My last was from Rome, postmarked
December 25th, and in spite of its volume, the time and place,
contained little in the way of general news and gossip, less of
stereotyped recital or description, and nothing of interest. After
consigning it to the post, regret at having so stultified myself
induced me to half resolve that that last should be the last - but
somehow this mania
scribendi
having fastened itself upon me, I
find it as impossible to resist its impulse as it was for the
Cumaean sibyl of old (whose den by the side of the terrible
Avernus is distant hence but an hour's ride) the proclivity to
prophesy. So make up your mind to the infliction of another, but
relieve it of all apprehension that my

thoughts and reflections will again take the tone of the
transcendental, or seventh-Heaven school, as embodied in my
last. Fifty leagues intervene between this and the Eternal City,
and fifty thousand in point of historical interest.

To-morrow we sail for Egypt, and as time and tide and
ocean-steamers wait for no man, I must now to the task
voluntarily assumed without more of prophecy or ado.

On the 10th ultimo, having tarried a couple of months with the
Pope, we turned our faces southward, and with a good and
commodious carriage and five fat horses (the last-mentioned for
the nonce, as ordinarily the bones of the "cavilli vetturini" may be
guessed with as near precision as the pence in Paddy's pocket)
were soon rolling past Saint John Lateran and through the
dreary Campagna. The road, the "Appia nuova," which soon
merges into the original "via Appia," was unsurpassed, the day
serene, the scenery lovely. Under such auspices the drive of
course, could be but pleasant, especially as I had taken the
precaution to dispense with postillions, those pests of the Italian
highway, in comparison to whom Turpin and his confreres of
Hounslow heath were a set of civil, honest gentlemen. The first
night we slept at Veletri, a "city built on a hill," a favorite idea of
the Italians by the way, and one of the few worthy of
commendation. The second day descending to the plain, we
entered the once much dreaded "Pontine marshes," dined at the
"foro Appio" or "
Three Taverns," a solitary little inn where Saint
Paul met the brethren from Rome, as recorded in the 28th
Chapter of Acts, and slept at Terracina, on the southern limit,
and on the frontier between Rome and Naples. On the third
day we had to run the gauntlet by some three or four custom-
houses, that bugbear smugglers in petticoats all the world
over, but nowhere so needlessly as in Germany and Italy, for
the custom officials in those countries are proverbial for
their "itching palms," and the traveller acquainted with
this amiable national weakness has no one to blame but
himself if he is subjected to the annoyances of an
examination.

In Mola di Gaeta, where we stopped for dinner, many
travelers would see but a romantic village and a good
location. In my eye it possesses an intrinsic attraction far
beyond its narrow streets, its frowning castle, its beautiful

bay, and picturesque background of hills. It is the last
resting-place of two of the most remarkable men of their
respective eras. In close juxtaposition repose the mortal remains
of Marcus Tullius Cicero and the Constable Bourbon, who
appeared at wide intervals upon this world's stage and with no
trait in common save the "sacra fames auri,"
which was the
moving principle of both, each became in his own way a prime
mover on its chess board. The bold Bourbon with scarcely a
redeeming virtue as a set-off against a host of vices, villainies
and crimes, with the exception of his courage and self-reliance,
yet possessed those in so eminent a degree that they almost
atoned for the absence of all others. He was the type of a class
which the nature of the times called into existence, and which,
happily for mankind and civilization, died out with the struggles
of Guelph and Ghibeline. Without country and without home,
discarding friendship and disdaining enmity, there was
something in the isolation of the Great Company's man which
elicits our pity, whilst his reckless bearing and indifference to
consequences involuntarily extorts our admiration. It is my belief
that, had the life of Bourbon been spared, Rome had likewise
been, that dreadful nine months of pillage which supervened that
event and its capture, and which for unheard barbarities threw
in the background all the stories of Goth, Vandal, and Visigoth,
which she had learned by experience. The brave are never
cruel; the world never beheld such a paradox, and the Constable
was superlatively brave.

On the fourth day we dined at Capua, a modern city in the
immediate vicinity of that ancient Capua whose blandishments
proved more fatal to the hopes of the Carthagenian hero than
Bow, javelin, or catapult of the Romans.

It is needless to mention scores of other villages and towns
through which our journey lay, remarkable for nothing save the
public spirit of their sons, legions of whom we saw playing the
gentleman of elegant leisure in every market-place and public
square, with not a sufficiency of rags on their backs to cover
their nakedness, discussing grave questions of state, politics,
theology, or literature perhaps, and
certes macaroni. In all
these, and in fact in all from Piedmont to Cape

Spartivento, and on every object from Saint Peter's to a
ploughshare, the word stagnation, or worse still,
retrogression,
is as indelibly written as those of life, progress and vitality are with
us. Everywhere is seen the want of that glorious "middle-class,"
which constitutes the pride and bulwark of England, and than
which, according to a distinguished English author, Bulwer,
none other is known in America. May the day be far distant
when any other will be! When our land will be encumbered by
those incubi of energy, a privileged and pampered aristocracy
and a disfranchised pauper million. In Italy, as I have remarked,
these extremes embrace the entire population to the exclusion
of the more material mean. It is the peasant and the prince, the
last the unit, the first the million; and as long as it is so, her
redemption or regeneration is a chimera by whomsoever
attempted.

In the afternoon of the fourth day we reached Naples, where
we have been ever since prosecuting our mission of sight-seeing
and luxuriating in a climate, perhaps, the most equable
under the sun. Since our arrival the thermometer has constantly
ranged between 60 and 80 Fahrenheit. Think of that, ye
denizens of an iceberg who, during the same interval, venture
your noses into the open air at the peril of frostbite.

After becoming settled, a trip to Pompeii was one of the first
excursions that attracted us. A two-hours drive brought us to
the only city extant which, literally speaking, can boast an
antiquity of two thousand years. Entering by the street of the
tombs, which contains many elegant mortuary monuments, the
first dwelling which arrests the attention is the so-called house
of Diomede, one of the most sumptuously magnificent which
has yet been uncovered. There is such a similitude in all of the
houses that one might suppose them to have been designed by
the same architect and after the same model.

The open quadrangular court, surrounded by the inner
portico of the house, and containing a fountain in the center, is
the same in all. Fountains, in fact, and miniature cascades
seem to have been an universal hobby, as they are found in
every patrician house. The houses are invariably low, rarely

exceeding one story, and in no instance, I believe, more than
two. This might be for the double purpose of avoiding heat
and the effect of earthquakes. The sleeping apartments are
close and cramped, according to our notions of comfort, and
might readily be mistaken for china closets of the present day.

For more than five hours we pursued our investigations
through the deserted thoroughfares of this once populous city,
as perfect and entire in all external respects as it was on the
ill-fated morning of its destruction, 1780 years ago. During this
entire time the only living beings that we encountered were a
party of English who, like ourselves, were intent on studying the
past from the palpable present; with the exception of these all
betokened the grave. "No watch-dog's honest bark," no prattling
urchins or rumbling wheels or merry bells were heard. On
every side a silence and desolation absolutely appalling -
graveyards are proverbially solemn places. In my younger days
I so regarded them, but this visit to Pompeii has dispelled the
illusion and will, doubtless, make me regard a nectropolis
henceforth a very pleasant abiding place. Why this oppressive
sense of solitude? Simply because the contrast between life and
death is nowhere so strongly presented. We enter a noble
mansion, and at the first glance mistake it for the abode of a
prince, "or greater still a Roman;" on every side is seen the
evidence of an elegance which in our country is rarely seen;
mosaics and marbles, and statues and frescoes and fountains,
and all the appliances which wealth and luxury and art
contribute to beautify and adorn this mundane existence. But
look again, and lo! the illusion has passed away, and we stand
in a tomb! Another, and another, is entered with a like result.
The temples are closed, where burned the fires of the "false
gods," and walked in immediately the priestly impostors whose
duty it was to enslave the mind. The amphitheater, which once
teemed with expectant crowds awaiting with hushed delight the
revolting spectacle of a hand to hand conflict unto the death, or
the equally disgusting struggle of man and beast, is emptied. Old
Romans once occupied those vacant seats and lovely women
(who the more shrinking and

timid, the more dear they are to man) were reckoned among
the spectators, aye, and revelled in the brutishness of the
arena. Where are they now? Gone! many thousands
overwhelmed by one common ruin, swept as by an avalanche
from the face of the earth, and if fiction, the handmaid of
history, is to be credited, in the self-same hour that the city
was emptied to fill this enclosure. The buried cities of Pompeii,
Stabiae and Herculaneum, afford parallel to the "Cities of the
Plain." Like Sodom and Gomorrah, they have passed away by
the action of an agency higher than man's, but, unlike them,
after the lapse of long, long years, they re-appear as if to mock
the mutations of time.

It may not generally be known that, though excavations have
been going on upwards of a hundred years, not one-fourth of
the city has yet been disentombed; neither have and buildings
of a poorer class been brought to light: so it is an open question
whether or not there were any poor in Pompeii, or if so,
whether they were not shut up in a quarter by themselves like
the Jews in Frankfort, Prague, and other German cities. Most
of the articles found have been removed to the Museo
Borbonico, and that at Portici. In the former we saw a
collection.

Last week we made an excursion to the crater, and a
tedious one it proved. We proceeded almost as far as the
hermitage by a carriage, when our further progress was cut
off by an immense field of burning lava, which for the last two
weeks had overflowed and blocked up the carriage road.

By climbing a foot-path, however, half an hour's walk
brought us to the last human habitation on the hill, far above the
surrounding country and half-way up to the summit. Here my
wife and her maid gave out, unable to proceed further up the
mountain; leaving them under the care of the old priest, who
inhabits this out-of-the-way and dangerous spot, my cousin and
myself resolved to persevere. Having omitted the
precaution to take donkeys at Resina, we were
necessitated to foot it to a spot called "Atrio
del Cavalli," at
the foot of the cone, and about two miles further on. It was a
rough walk, and by the time it was finished we were pretty
thoroughly fatigued. On reaching the place alluded to, all the

chairs by which the ascent is usually made had been taken by
first comers, and so, dispensing with that luxury, we had to
climb, as another party now were also doing. So we started,
but the order of progression was slow indeed, two paces
forward and one back, owing to the crumbling nature of the
soil, which is entirely volcanic, composed of ashes, black sand,
tufa, and small lumps of lava. Frequently it was necessary to
pull up by straps fastened around the waists of the guides,
whilst we were pushed up by others. After struggling on thus
for upwards of an hour, and finding it absolutely indispensable
to rest every five or ten minutes, we finally attained the summit.
On every side was ruin and desolation as forbidding and
repulsive as chaos itself.

All around lay spread immense masses of volcanic matter,
accumulation of thousands of years. Among these could be
traced almost every color and shade of color. Here and there
little tongues of flames were discernible through the crevices,
giving evidence that the mountain on which we were standing
was pregnant with a force as potential for mischief as the black
sand in the magazine, composed of carbon and saltpetre. The
thought crossed me, what if the match should be applied! and
my insignificance came full to me. I felt that the chances were
a thousand to one that, in that event, I would not be so
fortunate as the aspiring Empedocles, whose old boot robbed
him of the immortality he craved.

Scrambling over the intervening space, about two hundred
yards, and we stood at the month of that mysterious aperture
from which were issuing huge volumes of smoke and steam.
Producing a black flask, we drank to "the old folks at home,"
and then consigned it to the apparently bottomless pit in order
that it might never know a meaner toast. If the ascent was
up-hill work, the descent was easy enough in all conscience. All
the exertion requisite was to let yourself loose at the top and
pick yourself up at the bottom. But seriously, it is accomplished
almost without any act of volition on the part of the pilgrim.
Query: If Virgil had not this in his mind when he penned
"descensus facilis averni."
On return to the hermitage night had
already set in, now the ocean of burning lava which, under the
glare of a noonday sun was

hardly perceptible, was lit up with a brilliancy rivalling
burning village and producing a grandeur rarely excelled, if
indeed, ever equaled. Altogether it looked decidedly infernal,
prepared as the mind was by an insight into the crater to
receive such impressions. And the effect was further
heightened by a number of wild and weird looking fellows who
were engaged in running the molten mass into salt-cellars,
medals, and other small articles.

I had intended in this sheet to furnish a brief description of
the principal objects of interest, not only in and around Naples
but also at Salerno, where dwelt Tancred and the fair
Sigismond; Paestum, 60 miles south of this, famous for some of
the most remarkable ruins extant, especially the temple of
Neptune; Amalfi, once the first commercial power of the
Peninsula, which claims the honor of the invention of the
mariner's compass, now an insignificant village; Baiael, once
the most elegant and luxurious summer resort that the world
has yet seen, now nothing. These and others did I have in view,
but my limit is already transcended.

The Duke of Calabria, the heir apparent to the Neapolitan
throne, has just taken a wife and brought her home, and the city
as a consequence is filled with titled strangers met to
congratulate the happy pair and participate in the fetes. The
prince of this and the grand duke of that are dancing attendance
upon their future majesties. Illuminations, bonfires, fetes and
frolics, ad infinitum, were prepared in honor of the event, but lo
and behold! in the midst of all this preparation that
unceremonious old fellow, with a scythe and hourglass, steps in
and takes off one of the royal visitors, Her Highness of
Tuscany. Consequently, everything is indefinitely postponed.

A little morceau, exemplifying American simplicity as an
antidote against all this sententious parade and mountain-in-
labor tom-foolery. A few days ago, having occasion to call for a
friend at the Hotel Vittoria, in glancing over the list of names,
titled and untitled, I chanced to see that of Mr. Franklin Pierce
and Mrs. Pierce, United States. On inquiry, I found they had
left a day or two before for Capri and Sorrento, but that
they had been here off and on for a

month previously. In this quiet unostentatious gentleman few
foreigners recognized the ex-first magistrate of the first nation
on the globe, raised to that proud eminence by the suffrage of a
larger majority than ever combined - indeed, it would be a
"letting down" and condescension for this republican
potentate
to take rooms at the Palace Royal and mingle with the regal
herd "whom the King delights to honor."

The tour of President Pierce strikes me as characteristic of
our glorious institutions, the genius of which is opposed to
consequentials, which recognize in every individual, high or low,
but a component of the "eternal people," and in that people the
source of all the importance and power and glory of the nation.
In no country is the individual so small - the people so great.

And now the "wee sma' hours" warn me to bid you good-night.
Be not surprised to receive my next from the hundred
gated city of the Nile.

Adios.

Rome. . . . .

It was my impression that I had preserved a letter written
from Rome, but it is now impossible to put hands on it. One
extract, however, remains in my mind, which is as vivid now as
it was when penned.

To me the most hallowed spot in the Eternal City, not
excepting gorgeous cathedrals, baths and temples, was a spot
not now marked by the slightest memorial, which will explain
itself in the following paragraph:

"To-day I stood on the spot where stood the bridge defended
by the Coccles (the brave Horatius). Well do I recall the day
when, as an unsophisticated country schoolboy, I first perused
the enchanting story, and I thought then, as I think now, that I
would rather have been that bold plebeian with naught to
recommend him of which we are aware than a bold heart, a
strong arm, and a free unfettered spirit, backed by patriotism
paramount to every other consideration, than all of the
Alexanders and Attilas, Totilas and Tamerlanes, Cæsars and
Bonapartes, who have cursed mankind, combined and
consolidated in one grand legitimate cut-throat."

Dear Herald:
My last was given in charge to a passing boat,
on nearing this place, to be carried to Cairo for the post. Since
then we have been prosecuting the purpose of the trip with
such ardor and celerity that the major part of the principal
objects of interest in this vicinity have undergone our scrutiny
and submitted to an examination. The results of this survey I
am now about to communicate, coupled with such reflections
as naturally suggest themselves to my mind: for I can no more
content myself with a succinct matter of fact recital,
unaccompanied by those valuable concomitants, than could the
verbose kinsman of "Cousin Sally Dilliard," when on the witness
stand, refrain from similar surplusage.

We reached this, Luxor, about 10 p. m., on the evening of
the 18th, catching the first glimpse of its mossy monuments by
a moonlight almost as bright as that of day. Never did I more
fervently realize that obscurity is an element of the sublime;
never did I more felicitate myself on the concurrence of time
and circumstance of arrival. Approaching the landing, its
columns and colossi, its pylon and obelisk, stand forth in bold
relief and loom up large when beheld for the first time by
Cynthia's dim light.

Having slept on first impressions, we arose at an early hour,
and with patriotic pride beheld "the Stars and Stripes" waving
from two of the four other masts at the landing besides our
own. To those acquainted with the mercurial propensities of our
own kinsman, Mr. Bull, it is needless to add that "the Union
Jack" of old England floated from the other two; that bunting of
all others, after the first named, which possesses most of my
respect and partiality. Crossing the river, we proceeded first to
inspect the wonders of the western bank. Half an hour's ride on
our diminutive donkeys brought us to the grateful shade of the
"Colossi of the Plain" (the vocal Memnon, and another of lesser
note), looking in the distance like two Cyclopean sentries seated
on posts to guard the approaches to the Sacred Enclosures
beyond. It was with a mingled feeling of disappointment and
regret to discover them composed of many instead of being cut
out of a single block of stone, as I had always supposed. They

are much mutilated, "the human face divine" being almost
effaced, and every day diminishing the resemblance, owing to
the puerile desire in the minds of most visitors to carry away a
piece.

Were it not that the age of miracles is still existent, it would
be incredible at the present day that even the ductile faith of
primeval ignorance could be gulled by such a preposterous
imposture as that associated with one of these statues. Did we
not every year see tangible proof of the contrary, we might
boldly assert that the common sense and skeptical instinct of
the age would not require the assistance of acoustics to induce
them to reject with derision this priestly imposition. But knowing
this, let us be chary of a presumptuous comparison between the
credulity of the two eras; for in all probability could the priest
of Isis, Orisis, or Ammon, start to life and be made to
comprehend the statutes of the old and its theologies, he would
smile with scorn at some of the most cherished mysteries and
delusions of the superstitious herd of the present day, and
certainly the periodical liquifaction of the blood of an old saint
(the Neapolitan miracle), the holy fire of Jerusalem, and the
table-turning and spirit-rapping of our country, are inventions
inferior in merit and dignity to the more sublime and practical of
their own, which made the creature of man's hands salute with
an exclamation of joyous surprise the advent of the King of
light, the most rational and respectable of all the emblems and
figures of heathen adoration.

With the exception of these colossal effigies of man, nothing
in the shape of his creation encumbers the plain from the Nile
to the Memnonium, half an hour further inland; a plain
where once stood a city, the wonder of the world; a city
from each of whose hundred mouths could be poured
simultaneously twice that number of chariots with their due
proportion of infantry and horsemen. How changed the scene!
The ploughshare now passes over the spot. The serried
hosts and life-destroying legions of that epoch have passed
away and been replaced by the life-sustaining cereals of
another. In a word, all that wealth and power could call into
existence; all the vile and jostling competition of a

populous community; all the hustling magnificence which
usually betokens the site of the world's metropolis

has dissolved
And like an unsubstantial pageant faded
Left scarce a wreck behind.

To give even a brief outline of the Memnonium and temples
would require an amount of space which you were as loath to
accord as I to take. To describe them by a word, I know of no
more fitting epithet than Dominie Sampson's
"prodigious."
The
Egyptian order of architecture was never home-like, nor have
my prejudices been materially mollified by immediate contact
with these, the noblest specimens of it extant. There is too much
of the funereal, something too solemnly grand, if you will, to suit
my fancy. But independently of preconceived bias, I am not a
sufficiently competent judge of the merits of the science to
institute an equitable comparison between that and its more
polished rivals, or offspring rather. Nevertheless, it must be
confessed that in the solidity of its parts, the justness of its
proportions, its simplicity and power of durability, there is much
to recommend it even when weighed in the balance against the
unpretending Greek or more graceful Gothic; much to palliate its
more glaring defects, and to enlist our wonder and astonishment,
whilst unqualified admiration is rarely conceded. It is the order
of all the others which seems best calculated to mock the
mutations of time and the vandal malevolence of man. "Time's
scythe and tyrant's rods shiver upon them," to plagiarize the
noble apostrophe to the Patheon, of England's noble bard.

The pyramidical towers facing the gateway, the pylon and
columns, are the parts invariably in the best state of
preservation. The lotus-shaped capital was evidently the
favorite design, and justly, although in the same building, and
even in the same chamber, a conjunction with others is no
unfrequent occurrence. By the way, respecting the lotus which
furnished them the idea, it may not be generally known to the
supporters of prophecy that, in conformity to the prediction of
Isaiah, this, the bulrush, and all other water-plants which once
abounded in the Nile, have entirely disappeared.

Prostrate in the court of the Memnonium or Remeseum
rather, is the granite Colossus of Remeses II, so stupendous
even in its fallen grandeur that its demolition without the
agency of gunpowder has astonished the savants of our time
as much as the construction of another monument. It is cut
out of a single block of the hardest Egyptian granite and is the
largest of that description of which the annals or tradition of the
country make mention. The erection and transportation of these
tremendous blocks of stone has surpassed the world's
comprehension almost from the day upon which the last was
elevated. In transporting one of the two obelisks which formerly
stood at Luxor, and now ornaments the "Place de la Concorde,"
Paris, the French Government employed several hundred of
its own subjects and thousands of those of the Pasha, all of
whom were engaged at the work a year or two, and had finally
to await an extraordinary overflow of the river in order to get it
afloat.

The second day was devoted to the wonders of Karnak,
distant from our boat perhaps a couple of miles. As you are
probably aware, Karnak, Luxor, Kodrheh, Medeemel Haboo, et
cetera, all occupy parts of the ancient capital; and from their
remoteness from each other and with a river intervening, ample
evidence is afforded that its importance and immensity were
not overrated by the historian and geographer of the time.
Having already applied my strongest expletive to express
appreciation of the temples of Medeemel Haboo, what
adequate term can be applied to the great temple of Karnak?
None in my vocabulary will serve the turn. Suffice it that the
impression of superlative astonishment, produced by the
Colosseum in Rome, was eclipsed in the self-same hour that my
mind received that of the other; and I am disposed to think, that
had it flourished simultaneously, the great temple of Solomon
had not come down to us as standing isolated and alone, the
architectural prodigy of the world. The statement of Diodorus,
ascribing to its walls a circumference of one mile and a half
English, a thickness of 25 feet and an altitude of 45 cubits, is
certainly entitled to more credence than the generality of
readers are disposed to concede it. Although these dimensions
are necessarily much

abridged by lapse of time, there is still enough left to
convince the pilgrim that more time, labor, stone, money and
mortar were required in its completion that that of any other
edifice that can be pointed out at the present day.

In the grand, or columnar, hall, 270 by 329 feet, I counted 134
pillars of 66 and 42 feet, respectively, exclusive of the pedestal,
and a circumference of 40 and 27 feet. Nine out of ten of all
these are as perfect as if the building were still in the course of
construction. In another part are two beautiful obelisks of 98
feet each. In its finished state it stood forth to the world in all its
resplendent glories, the work of many monarchs and different
dynasties, extending through an interval of a thousand or two
years, and consequently exhibiting within itself the successive
gradations of the birth, rise, progress, and perfection of its
proper order of architecture. Like all other works of the period,
its walls are crowded with hieroglyphics, those rude symbols of
ideas, which may be considered as embodying the first
principles of that divine science subsequently introduced into
Europe by Cadmus. Having mentioned the great attraction of
the locality, the inferior sights consisting of the smaller temples
and hundreds of mutilated Sphinxes, Colossi, et cetera, which
were as tame in recital as they were in review, we will leave
Karnak and return to our boat.

Not less wonderful and more enduring are the abodes of the
dead than the palaces of the living, or the fanes of the false
gods. The entire chain of hills on the western bank, as far as the
eye can reach, is one vast necropolis abounding in tombs as
thick as a native with fifth and vermin. The care which this
ancient people bestowed upon its dead argues unmistakably
their belief that the future happiness or misery of the
deceased was materially affected thereby. This conviction
seems to have been transmitted unimpaired to their
posterity, and to be shared in common by all the nations
professing the Koran.

Two hours' ride on the third day, under the most oppressive
sun that I have ever experienced, brought us to
Belzoni's tomb, so-called from its modern discoverer. A
description of this will apply with some variations to
dozens of others which

are visited. Descending by a precipitous staircase some fifty or
sixty feet, a wide passage at the bottom leads into a number of
commodious apartments decorated in the highest style of
Egyptian art. Retracing the way partly, and turning a corner at
right angles, a second flight of stairs leads further down into
other chambers similar in all respects to those above. At the
farther extremity of these, that is, 342 feet from the entrance, is
an inclined plain, at an angle of 43 degrees, leading, I should
imagine, some fifty or sixty yards farther down. The whole of
this immense cavity reminds me more forcibly of the Mammoth
Cave, or Grotto of Adelsburg, than an artificial excavation that
occurs to me. It is cut out of solid stone (a white calcareous
limestone), in no part of which could I detect the slightest flaw
of imperfection, and admits of as high a polish as marble itself,
thus obviating the necessity of cement for purposes of mural
decoration, every part of it as well proportioned as if the whole
were the work of a master mason, led by line and plumb, and
with brick and mortar for materials. On the entire surface there
is not a spot as large as my hand untouched by fresco or
hieroglyphics. You may think this is a remarkable sepulchre, but
in no essential point does it differ from scores, perhaps
hundreds, of others, in its vicinage, such as those of the Harper
Amundph, the kings and queens. The tomb of the Scipios in
Rome was evidently borrowed from the Egyptian, but in
treading the ashes of that illustrious family there is a sensation
of oppressiveness and difficulty of respiration, owing to the low,
narrow and contracted space, and consequent confined
atmosphere. Here, however, there is nothing of the kind, and
the antiquarian might pass a twelve month in deciphering its
inscriptions (than which I had rather undertake the
disentanglement of a Chinese tea-chest) more comfortably than
in any dwelling-place between this and Cairo.

This morning, having examined the antiquities of Luxor,
which elsewhere were well worthy of a circumspect
examination, hut here are commonplace (except its obelisk,
whose dogs, cats, crabs, crocodiles, orang-outangs, and
animals, honored with an effigy, are more deeply cut and
consequently

more legible than on any other known), I called on the Consular
Agent. I have heard of sinecures; our list affords a few such,
and its great merit is that the number is more limited than that
of any other. But certainly a more complete sinecure and more
profitless than that worthy man, cannot be found. If his fees
reach five dollars per annum they exceed my guess.
Nevertheless, he is studiously courteous, attentive and urbane in
his bearing towards Americans, thus setting an example worthy
of imitation by some of our other representatives in the East.

He is a native, a Mussulman, and as far as I could judge, a
gentleman; a compliment I would feign extend to his confrere of
Cairo could I in justice do so; but who, if my estimate be
correct, is emphatically "the wrong man in the wrong place." It
was Louis XIV, I believe, who said of Churchill, - that he ought
to be a general commanding or - a captain, but that he was
unfit for a regiment. So of this individual; he ought to be a king
or a constable; as the republican consul is evidently unable or
unwilling to bring to bear, in the discharge of his duties, those
qualities essential to a worthy fulfillment of the office. Our
system of rotation in office, with all its abuses and abuse, has its
advantages as well as the life-tenure or indefinite system so
lauded by our friends, the English, not the least obvious of
which, perhaps, is the necessity it imposes upon the place-man
of "affecting a politeness foreign to his nature in order that he
may retain his post." Another homely truth that it brings home to
his comprehension is that, with us, the office honors the man
and not the man the office; and this, "though all the blood of all
the Howards," yea, of all the "conquerors" that encumbered the
world from Cain downwards should flow in his veins. Knowing
this, I would respectfully suggest the retiracy of those
"illustrious foreigners" unwilling to admit this leveling axiom.

I deem it needless to say, in conclusion, that whenever I see
fit to overhaul the official conduct of any man in the columns
of a public print, my name and address are patent to all
applicants; for if I claim the right of a Junius I disclaim his
nonentity, and so, Mr. Editor, apologizing on the score of haste
for all imperfections, I bid you a goodnight.

Sketch of the Second N. C. Battalion -
Wises', Later on in
Daniel's Brigade.

If any apology is necessary for the oft recurrence of the
pronoun personal in the following report, the writer hopes it will
be found in the peculiar make up of this gallant command,
organized mainly through his instrumentality, composed of
companies from three different States, and as incident to such
composition mustered directly into the Confederate service
instead of primarily into that of either State. North Carolina
supplied two-thirds of its numerical strength and gave it name
and designation. The fate of war decreed that its initial hostile
move was to a point where capture was inevitable, and before
the arrival of the two last companies requisite to complete its
regimental organization.

In the first days of April, 1861, the telegraph left no room for
doubt that the United States Government was resolved to try
and revictual Fort Sumter, then beleaguered by the young
government just springing into being.

Each fully realized that that meant war. The next train
carried the writer to Charleston as a would-be volunteer
gunner, anxious to see the beginning of what he deemed the
inevitable struggle, and hence nowise loth to see it begin. In this
he was disappointed, as orders had just been issued forbidding
any additional recruits into the batteries. He heard, however,
the opening gun of the mighty drama to follow, and a day later
the final one which preceded the surrender of this almost
impregnable fortress, as subsequent events proved it to be,
when besieged and besiegers were reversed. It was a dramatic
sight replete with patriotic enthusiasm, even as witnessed from
the city battery. A thrilling one when "the old flag" was hauled
down in token of evacuation and "the new one" run up. With
hundreds of others our little boat was just below the walls when
it was done, an explosion of cartridges killing three of the
garrison while saluting the first.

A few days later my company, that is, the one in which I was
an enrolled private, was in camp at the State Capital. The very
first I think to go into the camp of instruction there was the
"Warren Guards," Capt. Ben Wade. Certainly one

of the three first. After a short space of preliminary drill
it was assigned to the First Regiment, Col. D. H. Hill.

This company and two others had done me the honor of
giving me their unanimous vote (all voting) for the
Lieutenant-Colenelcy of this the initial regiment from our State.

For some unexplained cause, all three of these were
relegated to the next succeeding regiment, the Second, later on
numbered the Twelfth, to avoid ambiguity with what was
known as State troops.

This regiment was organized at Garysburg by the election of
Lieutenant Sol. Williams, lately resigned from the United States
Army, as Colonel, and was straightway moved to Richmond.
Shortly after arrival there, it was ordered to Norfolk.

Whilst in camp there ex-Governor Wise, then a Brigadier
General, sent me, unsolicited on my part, authority to raise a
regiment and join his command, known as the Wise Legion. It is
a matter of no little satisfaction that, upon its being known, the
last official act of North Carolina's first great War Governor,
John W. Ellis, was to give me an order for some six hundred
Enfield rifles, the only ones at the State's disposal.
Unfortunately for me, however, before all my companies could
reach the camp of formation (and there were eighteen from
which to select), and requisition be made for my guns, this
glorious son of North Carolina had breathed his last, and almost
the first official act of his successor was to revoke his order and
to give my guns to another, no cause being assigned and none
but favoritism presumable. In view of this gross injustice the
Legislature, only three dissenting. voted me fifty thousand
dollars to arm and equip my command. Ordinarily such a sum
would have far more than sufficed, but in those days weapons
of approved pattern were above money and above price, simply
because they were not to be had. Luckily my command was
composed of the right sort of men, not finnicky or over-fastidious
as to outfit. Though cheated of our "Enfields," to the
front we would go with squirrel substitutes and double-barrel
shot guns of divers calibre. Every man was afraid that he
couldn't get a hand before the game would be ended. And so
these honest workmen

took the best tools that they could get, and there was no
grumbling. We all expected better after our first fair field and
an honest fight. Fortunately our uncouth armament was
supplemented by some 350 old flint lock muskets which
Governor Letcher, of Virginia, generously turned over to me,
because his folks wouldn't touch such tools. After being
percushioned by the Government, they made very respectable
killing implements, especially when each double barrel man
carried beside a two-foot carving knife of the heft of a meat
axe in lieu of bayonet.

After such an elaborate outfit, not counting a good, warm
overcoat all around, it will hardly seem credible that within a
year thirty-two thousand and odd dollars were returned to the
State Treasury, to the surprise if not disgust of sterling old Mr.
Coates. "Why, Colonel, this thing is without precedent," was his
only comment.

In the fall of 1861 was ordered by General Cooper, Adjutant
and Inspector General, to proceed to Wilmington and report to
Gen. Joseph R. Anderson, commanding the Department of
North Carolina. By him was assigned to the duty of guarding
the coast above and below Masonboro Sound, some seven
miles to the east of that city. We continued in the discharge of
that duty until the 30th of January, 1862, when I was ordered
by General Cooper, A. and I. General, to proceed at once to
Roanoke Island, then threatened by the Federal force under
General Burnside. At this time the Second North Carolina
Battalion consisted of the following eight companies, averaging
about eighty-five men to the company. My two last companies
necessary to a regiment had not then reported.

(Owing to the loss of my papers when captured, necessity
frequently compels the use of proximates.)

There may be a mistake in lettering two of the companies,
which, however, is not material.

As has been said above, the order from the War
Department to proceed to Roanoke Island (the only one under
which I could venture to move), reached me on the evening of
January 30th. Some ten or twelve days anterior thereto,
however, the following order was received from General
Wise to the same effect:

You will, as early as practicable, move your whole
force from Wilmington, N. C., to Norfolk, Va., and there report
to General Huger for transportation to Roanoke Island. Bring
with your men all the outfit which you can procure at
Wilmington, and make requisitions at Norfolk for deficiencies.
Prompt movement is necessary, as the enemy are near in large
force.

HENRY A. WISE,Brigadier-General."

I waited at once on General Anderson and asked for
permission to start the next day. This he peremptorily refused,
threatening arrest if the attempt was made. "You are under my
command," he said, "by order of General Cooper, and no less
authority is going to take you away from here."

He, however, consented that Major Erwin might go to
Richmond and lay the matter before the Secretary of War for
final arbitrament. The Major carried request from me to obey
General Wise's order, and protest against it from General
Anderson.

After the interval stated, and after General Wise had written
the Secretary of War under date of "January 26. Please order
the forces of my Legion under Colonel Greene, at Wilmington,
N. C., * * * to be forwarded to me," the desired permission
(order) arrived.

Within the shortest possible time that transportation could be
obtained, about thirty-six hours after receipt of order, we went
on way to destination.

On reaching Norfolk, was again detained two or three days
(needlessly, I thought, and still think), awaiting water
transportation, starting on February 5th.

The sequel is sufficiently set forth in my report of operations
of the next three days ensuing, of date February 18th, herewith
reproduced from the War Records, Vol. IX, Series 1, to which
should be added that this command was the only one under
arms outside of the water batteries at the time of the surrender.

Am thus explicit in details concerning this first great
disaster to the Confederate cause in order to refute the unjust
insinuation of General Wise that I was needlessly dilatory in
starting from Wilmington in obedience to his orders. In plain
words, that those issued direct from the war office were not
subordinated to his. The absurdity of the assumption is not
deserving of comment. If any were needed, it is supplied in the
Report of the Congressional Investigating Committee, and the
personal encomium therein contained to myself.

His absence from the island, and presence on the mainland
during the entire fighting, should have made him more

cautious his reflections, not only in this case but against
almost every other regimental commander there present. It
grieves to say as much of one who had presumptively done a
favor. A brilliant talker, a fiery orator, a pungent writer, and
withal, a patriot, all this he was, but like some other political
generals, a very indifferent soldier.

Querulous with superiors, captious to equals, insolent to
subordinates, and opinionated in the superlative degree, totally
unfitted him for command at a most important point and at a
most critical juncture. Had this not been said in effect before
the Investigating Committee relative to the fall of Roanoke
Island, and in refutal of the baseless aspersion above referred
to, it probably would not here appear. No less is due to my
gallant command as well as to myself in the proposed
embodiment of historic regimental sketches of the various
commands of our State. Immediately after exchange the
Second Battalion was upon my application transferred to the
brigade of that superb soldier, Junius Daniel, and after his death
at Spottsylvania, commanded by his worthy successor, General
Bryan Grimes.

Recurring to report alluded to, let it be premised that the
Second Battalion was most needlessly included in the list of
prisoners that day. After the fall back of the troops engaged,
and the resolve to surrender, an official order to re-embark and
strike for the mainland would have saved every man in it.

I herewith submit a report of the skirmish in which my
battalion (Second North Carolina) was engaged on Saturday,
the 8th inst.:

In obedience to orders from Adjutant-General Cooper,
received on the evening of January 30, I struck camp in the
vicinity of Wilmington on the morning of the 1st inst., and

proceeded hither with all possible dispatch. Owing to the
want of transports we were detained two days and upward in
Norfolk, leaving that place on Wednesday, the 5th inst., in tow
of the canal tug-boat White.

On Friday, when about thirty miles distant from the island,
continued discharges of artillery informed us of the progress of
a fight between the Federal fleet and Confederate batteries.
Being entirely ignorant of the topography of the island, and
not knowing where or to whom to report, I left our transports
about twenty miles hence and came on in the steamer for
information. Having obtained which, I returned to my men and
crowded them on the smallest number of transports that would
contain them, and then started. The night was very dark and
stormy, with the wind against us, consequently our progress
was slow.

After beating about until midnight our pilot declared that he
had lost his reckoning, and as we had only a fathom and a half
of water thought it safer to wait for daylight.

About 2 a. m. Saturday a number of Confederate gunboats
passed us from the direction of the island, one of them running
into the schooner Beauregard (one of our transports) and
seriously injuring her. In reply to our challenge and statement of
our condition, all the answer we could get was that one of the
boats was the Beaufort, the other the . . . . . Had they stopped
in their flight long enough to exchange pilots with us, or even to
give our's the necessary instructions as to his course, my
battalion would have reached the island in time to have
participated in the entire action.

Failing to do so, it was 10 a. m. when we reached the island,
and 12 o'clock before the men, arms and ammunition could be
got on shore, owing to their having to be taken on lighters.
Having distributed all of my ammunition I started for the scene
of action, but soon met scores of stragglers, who reported
everything lost and the Confederate forces entirely dispersed.

Notwithstanding these discouraging reports, my men kept in
good spirits and pressed on with animation. On reaching your
camp, and having the worst reports confirmed, I called upon
you for orders, and was told to proceed to a point some

mile or two distant, under the guidance of Major
Williamson, and take position.

After proceeding about half a mile we came suddenly upon a
Federal regiment, which I have since learned was the Twenty-
first Massachusetts. The two advanced companies of the respective
commands were about seventy-five paces apart, I being some
twenty paces in advance of mine. I gave the command, "By
company into line," when the officer in command of the Federal
regiment threw up his hand and cried out, "Stop, stop, Colonel;
don't fire; you are mistaken!" Believing it to be a trick, I
repeated my command. Thereupon the Federal officer gave the
command, "Fire." My advanced companies returned the fire,
firing at will after the first volley. Finding that there was some
confusion, and not knowing the ground, I soon became satisfied
that I could not form my men in line of battle to any advantage
on the ground that they then occupied, so I ordered them to fall
back a short distance, and from behind the log houses
occupied by Colonel Jordan s regiment as quarters. This they
did in good order. The Federals fell back immediately after.
Immediately after forming behind the houses, Lieutenant
Colonel Fowle, of the Thirty-first North Carolina, passed by
with a white flag, and stated that a surrender had been
determined upon.

My loss was three men killed and five wounded, two of
whom have since died. I am happy to be able to report
favorably of the action of both officers and men. The enemy's
loss, as learned from themselves, was between twenty and
thirty. I marched my entire command, with very few
exceptions, in good order back to your camp.

I am, sir, very respectfully,
Your obedient servant,

WHARTON J. GREEN,Lieut.-Col. Second N. C. Battalion.

COL. O. M. SHAW.

NOTE. - In my report to Colonel Shaw, should have been
stated the fact that I strenuously protested against
surrender without a further effort to resume our original
lines, pledging my command to hold the enemy's advance
in check a

reasonable time if he would come to our assistance with the
other troops. This I certainly understood him to promise to do.
A mistaken sense of courtesy or delicacy to the officer in
immediate command, to whom report was submitted, forbade
its insertion at the time. Sure I am that the survivors of the
gallant gentlemen who were present at that interview, and
there were many, will avouch to the accuracy of the statement.
The Second North Carolina Battalion was in unbroken line
of battle with twenty thousand foemen advancing, but hoping
re-enforcement, when the white flag of surrender passed. In reply
to my expressed purpose to double-quick it back to the
transports with an eye to escape, the answer came, "This island
and all upon it has been surrendered. You will make the
attempt on your peril of breach of terms."

A little incident of juvenile heroism, surpassing that of "the
boy on the burning deck," may not be out of place. Whilst
awaiting the enemy in force, a little lad scarce midway in his
teens, walked down the front of the line, his right arm dangling
at his side but still clutching his trusty double-barrel with his
left.

"Colonel," he said, "they have broken my arm. Can I go to
the rear and let Dr. Patterson look after it?"

There was no more perturbation in his voice than if he had
been asking or answering a question on parade. There was
incipient hero there, and would that I knew him to-day. I'll
stake my life that that boy has never proved recreant to past
manhood duty, or gone back on early promise then made.
There was the bloom of the heroic, soon to fructify into
fruitage, the crop of which the world had never seen and will
never see again. The chance of securing reproduction can
never recur. Heaven pity posterity in its inevitable dearth of
such heroes.

A few days after the surrender we were transferred to the
steamer S. R. Spaulding with Fort Warren as objective point.
But through the efforts of General Burnside, who impressed us
then with his courtesy and soldierly treatment, as he did those
who knew him after the war, imprisonment was changed into
"parole." Fortunately for the Confederacy

later on, his reach of requisite for the chief command to which
he was assigned against the greatest soldier of his age, fell
something short. But better far than the reputation of a second-
class commander, he bore "the grand old name of Gentleman."
The writer is thus pleased to acknowledge more than one
civility received at his hands, including an exchange of body
servants, his and mine, the first being then confined at
Richmond. Mine, Guilford Christmas, was with me before and
during the war and has been with me ever since, a faithful
servant and a true friend, once exchanged as said, and later
escaping after a second capture. Had not racial interdict
precluded his enlistment, the Confederacy would have had few
more devoted servants, for his heart was in it.

The disparity of force in this, the second great battle of the
war, was too great to admit of hope for the weaker after the
other side had secured a foothold. Col. Shaw gives his entire
available force, exclusive of those in the water batteries at
1,434, rank and file, previous to the arrival of my own and
Major Fry's commands. Loss 23 killed, 58 wounded, 62 missing.
General Burnside puts his, not counting the gun boats, at 12,829,
loss 264. To make the disparity the greater they were
commanded by educated soldiers like Burnside, Foster, Parke
and Reno. That inequality was a little too much so, even in
those early days, when to paraphrase Harry of England, some
did "think upon one pair of Southern legs did march five
Yankees."

Later on, and after better acquaintance, few objected to
having the carrying capacity of those locomotors reduced to
three or even two blue coats.

Eight or ten to one was out of all reason.

Some seven months after being paroled at Elizabeth City we
were exchanged and the battalion ordered to rendezvous at
Drewry's Bluff.

Whilst in came there and attached to Colonel (later General)
Daniel's brigade, a petition was set afoot looking to a
re-organization. Although opposed to it on principle as calculated
to introduce politics into camp, and although from the peculiar
constitution of this command, it could have
been avoided, nevertheless, when it became obvious
that such was the desire of a number of the officers, no
obstruction was interposed on my part. The consequence
was that I was superseded as commanding officer by Capt.
W. H. Wheeler, who, however, resigned a few days
thereafter, thus devolving the command on Major
Andrews (promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel).

Shortly after, about the first of January, 1863, the brigade
was ordered to Goldsboro, N. C., in anticipation of a forward
move by the enemy. I went there at once to volunteer, but was
told by General Daniel that I would be enrolled on his staff as
a supernumerary or volunteer aide until something in the line
should turn up. Thence, shortly after, the brigade was ordered
to Kinston, where it remained until 17th of May, 1863, when it
was moved upon the Rappahannock.

Whilst in camp at Kinston we were, by General D. H. Hill's
orders, moved down the right side of the Neuse, Pettigrew's
brigade keeping abreast on the other with the object in view of
taking New Bern by surprise. Daniel's advance, after reaching
a point contiguous to that place, was subject to gun signal from
the co-operating column upon capture of the gun boats on that
side of the river. These, however, got up steam in time to
prevent capture, and so the attempt fell through.

General Hill next attempted the capture of Washington,
which was represented as being short of provisions and
supplies. A battery, Fort Hill, was planted below the town to
prevent relief by the gunboats. Whilst here Generals Hill,
Daniel, Robertson and myself rode over to the fort to take in
the situation. The gunboats were anchored some two or three
miles off, just out of reach of our pop guns, and had kept up an
incessant fusillade on the garrison for a day or two previous
without doing any harm. Before, however, we had been in
there fifteen minutes, I was knocked down by a ten-pound
piece of shell.

About the middle of June, 1863, our division, Rodes', broke
camp at Hamilton's crossing, a few miles from
Fredericksburg, and started, whither few knew, but many
surmised. At the time the Second Battalion was attached to
this superb

brigade, it was composed of the Thirty-second, Forty-third,
Forty-fifth and :Fifty-third Regiments, which continued
intact until the end of the war. On arrival in Virginia it was
assigned to Major-General R. E. Rodes' division, composed of
the following other brigades, viz: Ramseur's North Carolina,
Iverson's North Carolina, and Dole's Georgia, and no
better division was there in any army. Most fortunate were we
in brigade and divisional commanders. Both Rodes and Daniel
were born soldiers, and both died on the field of battle in
glorious discharge of duty. The division was in Ewell's corps.
On Daniel's death Bryan Grimes became his worthy successor
and later on the successor of the lamented
Rodes.

At Brandy Station, on the . . . . ., became aware that a
fight was going on in front. Were hastily formed and moved
forward to the point, upon nearing which General Lee in
person met General Daniel and told him that he was to keep
his command concealed under the brow of a hill except upon
emergency, as it was a cavalry fight and he didn't wish the
enemy to learn that he was on the move. Shortly after met
the corpse of my old Colonel, Sol. Williams, being brought
out on horseback by his brother-in-law, Lieutenant Pegram.
He was shot through the forehead, and Pegram told us that
Gen. B. F. Davis had just been killed on the other side by the
self-same wound. He and I were classmates and close friends
at West Point, and yet his death reached me without a pang
of regret, for he was fighting under the wrong flag, being a
Mississippian.

Gallant Sol. Williams had only been married a week or two
to the daughter of Captain Pegram, who won lasting honor in
the Confederate States Navy. Singular coincidence her cousin
and another old classmate of mine, Gen. John Pegram, was
killed in front of Petersburg after the same brief nuptials. He
married the beautiful and brilliant Hettie Cary, of Baltimore.

Gen. J. E. B. Stuart (another classmate), repulsed the
enemy that day after a hard day's fight, although he had been
taken by surprise in the morning. He too was killed later on in
front of Richmond. Here let it be remarked, by way

of parenthesis, that nine out of twelve of that glorious class
(that of 1850), who espoused our side, were killed in battle, all
with one exception, wearing the insignia of General. Stuart,
Pender, Gracie, Pegram, Deshler, Villipique, Mercer, Randall
and one other whose name now escapes me. Was there ever a
nobler holocaust of young heroes on the altar of patriotism,
each thirty or thereabouts? Generals Stephen D. Lee and
Custis Lee are the sole survivors as far as I am able to
ascertain.

From Brandy the division moved on towards the Potomac,
passing through Front Royal, Winchester and Berryville. At the
last place came near capturing Brute Milroy and his entire
force, but with the coward's instinct he saved his vile neck by
precipitate flight. He was one of the three who were made
infamously immortal by Confederate Executive mandate that
they were not to be accorded the rights of prisoners of war if
captured. Beast Butler and Turchin, the barbarian, were the
two others. Let the triumvirate of gold-laced felons stand
pilloried where they were put, in the scorn of all true soldiers
through all time to come, to teach would-be imitators that wars
must henceforth be conducted by generous and humane rules
instead of barbaric. Moving on through Martinsburg we forded
the river at Williamsport and camped a couple of days at
Hagerstown, Md. Thence on to Greencastle, Pa., where there
was another halt for a day. Thence to Carlisle, where we took
possession of the government barracks.

The next day (Sunday) the flag pole, which had been cut
down by the enemy, was replaced and the "Stars and Bars"
wafted to the breeze.

June 30th made an early start and a forced march to
Heidelberg, eleven miles short of Gettysburg. The next
morning, bright and early, started again. Had proceeded but a
short distance when the opening guns of that momentous
conflict fell upon the ear. On arrival were deployed in line of
battle in a skirt of woods. The enemy at once began to shell us.
General Daniel ordered the brigade to lie down until ready to
advance. Whilst he and I were standing just in front of the
Second Battalion holding our horses, a shell exploded in a

few feet to the left, killing and wounding nine men. Probably
no one missile occasioned more loss to life during the
war. A little later the men were ordered to rise and advance.
The enemy were some five or six hundred yards in front, and
results showed had set a most deadly trap for us. When half
way between our starting point and their line, were ordered to
lie down whilst our guns in the rear played on their ranks. Then
rose and charged to the brink of the deep cut of the railroad,
beyond which at some hundred paces the enemy were drawn
up in line.

The men in their ardor slid down the almost precipitous bank
and attempted to scale the opposite, but to no effect. An
enfilading battery to our right then opened, sweeping "the cut"
with terrible effect. Suggesting to Colonel Brabble, the senior
officer, to face to the left and clear the gap, I scrambled to the
top and got one shot at the advancing foe with a musket taken
from a sick boy at the start, with whom my horse was left.
Believe it was with effect, as it caused a pause in the line
behind and delayed a down-pouring fire until we got out of that
horrible hole. As soon as it was done the men who had behaved
like veterans so far, became temporarily demoralized. Then it
was that the soldier loomed up and plucked the flower safely
out of the nettle danger. Junius Daniel is the man referred to.
In his stentorian tones, audible in command a quarter of a
mile or more away, he ordered the men to halt and reform on
him. This they did without regard to company or regimental
formation almost to a man, advanced at once and inflicted a
loss on the enemy, from all accounts greater than that which
they had just sustained. A sublime picture of heroism that, on
the part of commander and command.

Just then I was knocked down by a wound in the head and
had to go back to the field hospital. Here the scene was
sickening in the extreme. By sundown, hundreds of wounded
had arrived, and the horrid work of amputation was going
briskly on. Here I pause to pay brief tribute to an unpretentious
hero who did his duty as grandly as any other on that bloody
field, although his only weapons were scalpel, saw and
bandage. Though Daniel's brigade had the largest wounded

list of any other at Gettysburg, the surgical staff was something
short that day. But there was one who was a host in himself.
For three days and nights, with coat off and sleeves rolled up, I
do not think Dr. Frank Patterson, my old surgeon, then brigade
surgeon, relaxed in his bloody work of mercy half an hour at a
time. If he closed his eyes in sleep during that dread ordeal it
escaped my observation, although in thirty feet and full view of
the operating table.

"The glorious Fourth" was a fateful day, not only for that
glorious army, but for the cause, for far away Vicksburg, the
key of the Mississippi, had fallen.

The retreat began in regular order on that day. Capt. Wm.
R. Bond, of General Daniel's staff, now of Scotland Neck,
likewise wounded, and myself, were assigned to a one-horse
wagon driven by Guilford. The wounded train was tacked on to
a part of the ordnance. That night, having to pass through a
long defile, it was subjected to an annoying fire from above.
Kilpatrick's division, having ridden ahead and taken position on
each bank of the road. This doughty hero should have been
cashiered for not capturing that entire train, for it was only
guarded by two squadrons of cavalry. As it was, he only took
some thirty or forty ambulances and ordnance wagons.

Shortly after getting through the deep cut of the road our
little mounted escort broke and went to the head of the train.
An ordnance wagon loaded with old guns, took off one of our
rear wheels in trying to pass, and before Bond and I could pick
ourselves up, a dozen revolvers were bearing on us. It was
then that volubility told. Guilford with a flow of words
unparalleled in his speech before or since convinced the
gentleman on horseback that, "we surrender, we are prisoners,
for God's sake don't shoot." Believing that the entire ordnance
train was lost and all lost with it, it is within bounds to say that
his impromptu eloquence elicited but scant thanks from either
of the two "prisoners."

Thence were carried to the hospital at Frederick, from there
to Fort McHenry, thence to Fort Delaware for a while and
from there to Johnson's Island in Lake Erie, which continued
to be the residence of most of the officers until near

the surrender. My cartel was, I believe, the last one antecedent
thereto. Many projects for wholesale escape had been
formed during our imprisonment, but were always frustrated
by some secret spy or cowardly informer.

But to return to the 2nd North Carolina Battalion at
Gettysburg. It fell short of a full regiment, and yet it's doubtful
whether any full regiment in that matchless army sustained the
loss in killed and wounded that it did. One hundred and fifty-
three is authenticated record. Perhaps it is better to give an
excerpt from a letter received from Maj. H. A. London, later
on A. A. G., of the brigade, bearing thereon.

* * "The 2nd Battalion at Gettysburg had more men killed
and wounded than any full regiment in Pickett's division. It's
killed was 29 (including it's commander, Lieut. Col. Andrews)
and wounded 124. The 57th Virginia regiment had 26 killed and
95 wounded, which was the heaviest mortality of any of
Pickett's regiments. Maj. James Iredell, who took command
after Andrews' death, was killed at Spottsylvania, where the
battalion was nearly all captured, killed or wounded. I do not
think any field officer commanded the battalion after Iredell's
death. It remained with Daniel's brigade until the end, but I do
not know it's number at Appomattox - a mere handful,
however. It was a noble band and shared fully in all the glory of
Daniel's (afterwards Grimes') brigade. * * *

Yours truly,

H. A.
London."

It was not my proud privilege to command it in that dread
baptism of blood. I was only a musket-bearer in it's ranks that
day, but it did my heart none the less good to see how grandly
the children of my nurture, knew how to die for cause and
country.

Whilst it has been shown above that I was no stickler for
rank throughout the mighty struggle, I may nevertheless be
pardoned for statement bearing on it.

Only some six weeks before his death, ex-President Davis
told me, in the presence of his wife and youngest daughter in
his home at Beauvoir, that as soon as he heard of my return
from prison he sent in my nomination to the Senate for a
Bigadier General's commission, and presumed it had been
confirmed. He supposed, however, that in the confusion of the
last

few days preceding the evacuation of Richmond, it had,
like many other matters, been overlooked.

This was subsequently confirmed in a letter from Mrs.
Davis, with additional details. The incident is mentioned more in
satisfaction of the good opinion of that grand man, the central
figure of that historic epoch, than out of regard for an empty
title, which per se is not valued at a pinch of snuff.

Pertinent thereto, another statement is ventured which must
be taken on faith, as he who made it is no longer in the flesh.
On the road one day General Daniel told me that just after the
reorganization, the President asked him if he would not advise
setting aside the election and restoring me to the command, as
it was primarily an executive appointment instead of by
election. Daniel's reply was, "Not to that command, as the
event however injudicious validates the change; but I will most
cheerfully recommend him for the first vacant regiment or
brigade either at your disposal."

WHARTON J. GREEN,
First Lieut. Col. Commanding,
2nd Battalion.

Address on General Robert Ransom, Delivered
Before the
Ladies Memorial Association, May 10, 1899.

Ladies of the Memorial Association, Old Comrades and
Friends:

I thank you most cordially for the honor done me to-day
in bidding me to talk to you of my honored friend and
kinsman, Gen. Robert Ransom. This trust could doubtless have
been confided to far abler hands. To none, however, surpassing
him selected in love and admiration for this truly great soldier
and upright gentleman.

Sever years ago to-day the same duty devolved on me
through the partiality of your sister society of Newbern, where
he had lived and passed his closing hours. Hence, of necessity,
I am forced to draw freely upon the address then delivered,
even to literal reproduction of many parts. This has been
rendered the more imperative by a severe and protracted case
of the grippe almost ever since your summons

reached me. Hence, I crave allowance for all short-comings
to-day, for I must draw on manuscript more than memory
likewise.

Here is the opening on that occasion: "Four years ago on this
recurring anniversary," hallowed to patriotism and heroic
memories, your orator was he whose eulogy your bidding
devolves on me to-day. He gave you graphic pictures and
panoramic of one of the grandest and most melodramic battles
that history will be ever called on to record. Charles Lever, by
common consent of military critics, has given in his great novel,
O'Malley, the finest description of Waterloo ever published.

Your townsman, General Ransom, portrayed on occasion
referred to, the field of Fredericksburg, rivaling in pomp,
panoply and numericals the other, in words scarce less
befitting.

That he was a war actor the world knew. That he was a
war artist his single effort proved. Such was Cæsar, actor and
artist.

Where heroes pass the bourne, their people, if worthy to
have heroes, ever pay them suitable tribute. Correlative thereto,
the race that fails therein, rarely produces the genuine article.
No account is taken of the nickel-plated or "Brumagenized"
specimen, the mere throat-cutter on extended scale. Slavish
barbarians can evolve such as these, as witness Genghis, Atilla,
Alva and Tamerlane. But the true, genuine broad-gauged world-
recognized hero is the almost exclusive development of free
born men and women.

Great races and critical junctures beget great men who adorn
their epochs and honor humanity. Most prolific of all in such
product was the seven hilled city on the Tiber, and long
centuries later on, the little island with wooden walls and her
first great trans-oceanic off-shoot. Those races inherently great
beyond all others in past and present times, raised brainy
thinkers and brawny but gentle actors, who taught and
illustrated how to govern others and the far higher lesson for
free people, how to govern themselves. Such teacher and actor
combined in one is the quintessence of god-like heroism.

Of such, where can higher type and more frequent be
found in any era than in the Confederate armies? Take,
forsooth, as highest illustration, Davis, Lee, and Sidney
Johnston, our three ranking leaders. Triumvirate of
Immortals, without flaw or speck! Individually never surpassed,
collectively never equalled in any war by mortals waged in
attribute here outlined. Legitimate praise must needs sound
fulsome to those who knew them not, and all panegyric tame to
those who did.

Genius coupled with gentleness, self-assertion with modest
claim, loftiest ambition with humanity, flawless record with
tempting opportunity, sublime faith with unflagging zeal, and
every impulse subordinate to patriotic end, constituted fitness
in the highest for highest command. Let it content us in defeat,
my brothers, that the cause by them espoused will be gauged in
history by their exalted standard. "Causa victrix placuit deis,
sed victa Catoni." Observe in like connection Jackson, the
superb, grandest lieutenant that ever captain had, and his
brother Hill, cast in kindred mould; that stern inflexible brace of
old Ironsides, who had implicit faith in Providence and
Presbyterianism, dry powder and cold steel, and could not
realize that soldiers could die before their time had come. It
would seem that they had interpolated another tenet in the
articles of the church militant; namely, dying for cause and
country and liberty is a no mean atonement for duties undone.

Such has ever been a conquering creed for under-sized
armies, deficient alike in numbers and resources. It made the
camel driver of Mecca, the prophet, the law-giver, the master
of the Eastern world. It made Huntingdon's brewer the most
renowned and respected potentate of his time, and who
ennobled as only one had done the kingly place he held. It
enabled the adventurer, Cortez, with a few score followers, to
subjugate a nation of millions. And so the embattled host, urged
on faith in God and duty to man, is well nigh invincible until by
attrition annihilation follows. The eight thousand guns grounded
at Appomattox is eternal proof of the dictum laid down.

Brief retrospect of a few others of our typical heroes, and

we pass on to the subject of our text. The entire roster could
scarce be called between "the rising of the new moon and the
going down of the same, at the end of its course," for from
the modest President to the jocund drummer boy it was an
army of heroes. Take the two fighting parsons, for instance.
Hear them at critical junctures in the hour of battle and you
have the animus of those glorious legions. "Hold your
position, General Cheatham, for it is the key of the line,"
exclaims Bishop General Polk a brief space before his
lamented fall: "hold it though it cost every man in your
command." "Can't promise, General," was the jocular
retort, "since you've made me promise to give up cuss
words. Since I have, these boys of mine don't fight a bit
better than blue coats."

"Speak to them to-day in your own emphatic way,
Cheatham, but hold your part of the line," was the parting
injunction, or at least it was so reported.

"Take good aim, my men, before pulling the lanyard," is the
caution of the grave old artillerist, brother Pendleton, "and may
the Lord have mercy on their souls."

On this occasion for obvious reason we pass the most superb
infantry that the world has ever known or is likely ever to
know. God bless them, they fought on the plane of demigods
and like demigods, and make our salaam to the cavalry. I give
you a fancied review of our horse-back heroes in the mythic
shades of Walhalla.

There's Stuart, the noblest of the line of kings, whose name and
blood he bears, replete with piety, patriotism and school-boy fun,
who to well laid plans loved a fight for right as he did a frolic. If
claim to kinship there was with Scotland's kings, the knightly
Rupert, who towered above them all, must have been in lineal
progenitor. Farewell, "Old Beauty"; good-bye, "Jeb," old friend
and classmate.

And there rides one unskilled in schools and hence could
never master the definition of the word defeat. His name is
Forrest. By consensus of opinion of most approved military
critics of neutral nations the grandest leader of horsemen in the
annals of all antecedent times. A rough rider they say but by
my troth courtly. His theory of war may be crude,

but it has ever proved Napoleonic: "I make it a point to fight the
enemy wherever I find it and try and get the most men there
first." Doff your cap Murat, Marshal of France and King of
Naples, and discard your golden spurs and cockney feathers,
for hence on you ride behind that untutored son of Genius.

And there's Hampton, he hasn't forded the dark river yet.
God grant the day be far distant; and hence to spare his
blushes we must needs be chary of praise. But truly hath he
ridden well unless universal report belie him. By birthright and
by right of self-made good, no Bayard e'er bore prouder and
more spotless front.

Political ingratitude may hurl its puny shafts at such an one
as did the little men in Lilliput, theirs at Captain Gulliver, but the
muse of history has him enrolled amongst the world's foremost
and most unselfish cavaliers.

And there goes Wheeler, little fighting Joe. He too, was a
marked hero in "the war between the States," send later on he
came out as the hero of another war. Too big is he, little as he
looks, for the "standing army." He once wore a gray coat.

And here is a pair of old "Web Foots" who must not be
forgotten, although out of place in the "critter company." But
that makes no odds. Doff hats, heroes, all of every arm, to the
brace of old "Pirates," as they were insultingly dubbed by that
great power whose world-reaching commerce wilted at their
mandate more effectually than did that of Spain at the bidding
of their predecessors in patriotic piracy - Drake, Raleigh and
Hawkins. Aye, hail, thrice hail "Alabama" and "Shenandoah!"
Raphael Semmes and "Tar Heel" Waddell! Such names as
these almost make "piracy" respectable, as those just mentioned
did "rebellion!"

These old sea birds did swim in every sea, and lit them up
with their pyrotechnics in their two little boats with a fancied
broom for penant, despite the prohibitory veto of hostile navies.
Yes, pull ashore, old "Tarpauliens," and ride with these old
heroes who were born on horseback.

Brothers o'er the harbor, these be a few of our honored
leaders. Soldiers all they were in high degree, but more

than mere soldiers - gentlemen.. We do not challenge
competitive claim, but defy detraction. In that galaxy of
immortals, few won more enviable fame in successive grade than
did Robert Ransom. He was born and reared in Warren county,
North Carolina, long anterior thereto and thence on until the war,
the recognized home of refinement and hospitality. Her reputation
in that regard extended far beyond State borders. Whilst there
was perhaps more average wealth per capita than in any other
county in the State, its possession was rarely accompanied by
vulgar assumption. Education, refinement and culture were
unquestioned passports to every circle. It was the privilege of
the speaker to have his lot cast amongst that generous people in
middle boyhood, and thence on with interruptions to the present
time; and he hesitates not to say that for the beautiful traits
named, he has, after extended travel and close observation, never
known the country community that surpassed if equalled it.

Whilst, as said, there was wealth there for that day and a
rural population, Bob Ransom was not one of the boys who was
"born with a silver spoon in his mouth." Perhaps, as conducive to
the proud name and fame he left, quite the reverse. His
ancestors were of the very first who settled that part of our
State and had lived in style, but open doors and open-handed
welcome had reduced his own and many collateral branches of
his house to scant means of continuing that mode of living; but
still the latch string was ever on the outside of his father's door.
To the credit of both be it said he and his illustrious brother
Matt, who served four terms in the United States Senate, and
prouder still, four years in the fight between the States and with
a proud war record, and diplomatic besides, had to contribute by
manual labor on the farm in intervals from desultory schooling,
to maintain that unpretentious but hereditary hospitality.

His father was Robert Ransom, Sr., and his mother
Priscilla Whitaker by birth, likewise of the illustrious
Carev stock. His grandfather, Seymour Ransom, married
Birchett, the daughter of William Green, one of the most
successful planters and remarkable men of the South. His
paternal great-grand-father was James Ransom and his wife
Priscilla,

born Jones, the daughter of Edward Jones and his wife, Abigail
Sugan.

This last named was one of the most remarkable women
of the last century or any preceding century, and is better
known to her thousands, aye, tens of thousand descendants as
"Grand-mother Cook." (Her second husband was named Cook.)
She was a woman of marked traits of character, who left her
impress upon succeeding generations of her posterity, and a
more distinguished progeny than man or woman probably ever
did whose death is within a century. Governors and law-makers
and law consructers, soldiers and divines of high degree have
through all that time been proud to claim that barefoot,
unsophisticated pioneer girl as a most illustrious fountain-head of
their stocks. Priscilla, her daughter, first married Colonel Macon
and was the mother of North Carolina's most distinguished son,
Nathaniel, of that name. It will thus be seen that General
Ransom's great grand-father was the step-father of that
inflexible old Roman, Nathaniel Macon, whose name is revered
and honored wherever known.

Mr. Macon was his great uncle through his paternal as he
was likewise through his grand maternal side of the house, and
most striking were their traits in common. Neither knew the
virtue in the world policy; neither would have Neptune for his
trident or Jove for his power to thunder; neither would have
relaxed in sense of duty to win the acclaim of others, in order to
lead Senates or armies or to win the civic crown or supreme
command. As Old Tom Carlyle might have expressed it, they
were a brace of sturdy, duty-loving men, who could not be
swayed or swerved from settled conviction of right by
patronage from above or plaudit from below. Duty was the text
of each through life; his life, the sermon.

General Ransom's preliminary education was obtained at the
Warrenton Academy, necessitating a walk of three or four
miles a day each way, not to speak of incidental exercise at
home. His teacher was "old Bob Ezell," familiarly so known. A
ripe scholar he was, who believed in hickory and the high
classics, and instilled the last by a free application of the first.
It was a cruel system, as I for one can feelingly

certify, that under which we old boys of that day were
indoctrinated in the "Humanities." Heaven save the
mark! It may well be questioned, however, whether its entire
subversion or substitution by the new fangled "fad" called
moral suasion is conducive to a higher order of manhood. The
proof is on the boys of the last and rising generation and others
to follow to adduce.

From the village school he was transferred to the United
States Military Academy in 1846, and the transition was not a
feather-bed by comparison. Four years later he left that nursery
of heroes as a brevet second-lieutenant in the First Dragoons.
His class standing was good, ordinary only in the academic
curriculum, but according to the old Scythian standard of liberal
education there was none above him. "He knew how to ride, to
shoot and to speak and to act the truth." None stood higher
for these and other high qualities than did this modest
gentleman, as I well know who entered the school as he was
leaving it and know the name he left behind. By the way, he
wrote me a long letter of advice before my matriculation, such
as an older brother might be supposed to have penned on the
occasion to a younger. The gist of it as now recalled, was
obedience to constituted authority as the basic and essential
element of a military life; regard for the rights of your fellows,
coupled with a reasonable self-assertion of your own, and
avoidance of all low dissipation.

His branch of the service, the mounted, was stationed almost
exclusively in the far west, in order to hold the Indians in check,
at that day constantly on the verge of outbreak when not in
actual hostility. In that then remote quarter the next ten years of
his life was almost continuously passed in hard but inglorious
service. Nevertheless it was a fit school of preparation for the
mighty struggle then impending. He had just attained in the line
of promotion, a rapid rise to the coveted commission of Captain,
having married his first wife in the meantime and had children
born to him. Then came the great political cloudburst of '61 and
the four eventful years of carnage to follow. Gentlemen on the
military and naval service from the South were reduced to
choice of alternatives - poverty and honor on one hand and
assured pay and

position and speedy promotion on the other; or to state it in other
and plainer terms, to elect and fight for or against their mothers
that bore them. To their eternal credit be it spoken, that in that
test election and severe ordeal of true manhood, few wrongly
voted and wrongly acted. Almost solidly their ballot was,
"poverty and unsullied honor." Some few there were who
otherwise elected, and some of these did strike most hurtful
blow of all against their native section. Marbles and bronzes in
their honor evince the victor's gratitude. Let us for sweet
charity, throw the mantle over their name and fame and bury
their nativity in oblivion. Bob Ransom, like a Carolinian of the
olden time, the true gentleman and knightly soldier, came quick
to call and laid his sabre, almost sole earthly possession, save
his young wife and babies, upon the altar of his mother State.
Chivalric Ellis, then on the brink of the grave, gave him the right
hand of welcome and bade him raise the only regiment of
horsemen then authorized. Never did he or any other Governor
make more judicious selection. Never was trust more worthily
executed. Never was there a more superb mounted regiment
than the one he organized, equipped and carried from
Ridgeway to Richmond.

It elicited unstinted praise from the martial President down
even to the mercenary contractor; and better still, aroused
emulation and rivalry of similar commands from its own and
sister States. In this last regard as exemplar, it was of untold
service to the cause. To its first Colonel was that credit mainly
due. And never was Colonel better seconded than he in his
immediate subordinates, Lawrence Baker and J. B. Gordon,
both later on in command of his regiment, and later still general
officers. Gordon died on the field of glory, and so Baker too
would have done if he hadn't had more life tenacity than nine
cats combined, for he came out mangled, shattered and
battered as few others did from that dread ordeal. God bless
you, old "Sabreur" and friend and grant that you live to carry
those glorious scars for many a year yet to come.

Its first Colonel like Forrest, was born an ideal cavalryman.
He was one of the most superb horsemen that ever

vaulted into saddle, with the combined critical eyer of the
trader and amateur in selection and the Bedouin's inherent love
for the friend that bore him through trials and dangers whilst
ever on the alert and lookout for these last.

The post of danger was ever the coveted place of that
model regiment, and the one by discerning generalship usually
assigned it. Many and oft times have I heard grand old Hampton
dilate in loving and admiring terms of its proved valor at critical
juncture. Of all the daring deeds of that Preux Chevalier, I think
he takes most pride in his night attack at Atlee's Station. With
306 men, 253 being of the First North Carolina Cavalry under
command of Col. Wm. H. Cheek, and the remaining 53 of the
Second North Carolina, under Major Andrews, all Tar Heels,
he attacked Kilpatrick's entire division and caused it to retreat
or rather stampede at the dead hour of night, after capturing a
brigadier general and a train of other captives outnumbering the
force he hed.

I read a letter on the
subject from General Hampton:

Columbia, S. C., March 4th, 1892.
My Dear Colonel:

I am glad to learn that you are to deliver a
eulogy on General Robert Ransom, for his character and
career reflected honor on North Carolina. It was my good
fortune to have the First North Carolina cavalry in my
command during the larger part of the war, and I always
attributed much of the efficiency of this noble regiment to its
first Colonel, afterwards the distinguished General Robert
Ransom. To him was due in large measure those soldierly
qualities which won for his old regiment its high reputation, a
reputation it deserved, for in my opinion there was no finer
body of men in the A. of N. Va., than those composing the
First North Carolina Cavalry. Of the many instances when this
regiment distinguished itself I recall one, when in conjunction
with a small detachment from the Second North Carolina it
performed a memorable achievement in the defeat of
Kilpatrick on his raid, attempting to capture the city of
Richmond. With only 250 men in its hanks under command of
Colonel Creek, and with fifty men of

the Second, we struck Kilpatrick's camp at 1 o'clock in the
morning in a snow storm, after marching forty miles; captured
more prisoners - representing five regiments - than our
number, including the officers commanding the brigade, and put
to flight Kilpatrick's whole force of three brigades in which
were 5,000 men. But on every field this regiment displayed
conspicuous gallantry. Your State, which furnished so many
gallant soldiers to the Confederacy, gave none who upheld her
honor and reflected glory on our flag more bravely than did the
First regiment of cavalry. I can never forget my old comrades
who composed it. Peace to their dead and all honor to their
living.

Sincerely yours,

WADE HAMPTON.

When it is taken into account that Kilpatrick's purpose was a
junction with Dahlgreen, the infamous, whose purpose was as
proclaimed by papers found upon his base carcass the next
day, after capturing our Capital and murdering the President
and other high officials, to release the Federal prisoners and
turn the city over to indiscriminate sack and pillage and ultimate
destruction, the importance of the victory will be better
realized. The discomfiture of this hellish scheme was mainly
due to the general in command, and the general who had
organized and infused his spirit into that gallant regiment and
made it adequate to the desperate undertaking. But let its old
commander speak for himself further on. Long before that,
Colonel Ransom had been assigned to a brigade command and
a little later on to a divisional. From the time of his first
promotion to the end he was alternately in command of cavalry
and infantry, thus proving his versatility for command, and the
great confidence reposed in him by the appointing power.

November, 1861, whilst Colonel of the First Cavalry, he led
successfully in the first encounter between the cavalry of the
two armies. In the spring of 1862 he was promoted Brigadier-
General for the special purpose of detailing him to organize the
cavalry under Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston in the West, but
New Bern having fallen, this purpose was

abandoned, and he was ordered to Eastern North Carolina to
hold the enemy in check and to maintain railroad
communications. In June, 1862, he was assigned to the
command of the North Carolina brigade of infantry, and was
with Holmes and Huger during the seven days fight, and at
Malvern Hill his brigade made the last charge, and left some of
its dead among the Federal guns.

In the first Maryland campaign his brigade was a part of J.
G. Walker's division, and was at the fall of Harper's Ferry and
in the hard-fought battle of Sharpsburg. From the extreme right
(September 17th), he was, at 9 a. m., double-quicked the left
centre, where the enemy had penetrated our lines. They
were driven back, and three successive attacks in
overwhelming force repulsed, and the position held until our
army was withdrawn on the night of the 18th. That feat is all
the more worthy of mention when it is taken into account that
two gallant commands had been forced back when he came to
the rescue, and that his force was subjected to an artillery fire
at canister range for several hours without the chance of
replying.

At Fredericksburg he commanded Walker's old division
(December 13, 1862), and "was in special charge of Mars' and
Willis Hill," where the Federals suffered heavier than at any
other part of the line. Here it was that Meagher's famous Irish
brigade was almost exterminated after various repeated
charges to carry the position. Perhaps the lesson then received
from the force in his front was the prompting impulse of the
generous tribute paid his foeman by that gallant son of Erin,
Thomas Francis Meagher. In reply to a serenade given him in
Chicago after the war he was reported at the time to have used
this language: "Now that they are prostrate, the question comes
up, how shall we treat them? My answer is, with the utmost
kindness, cordiality, generosity and magnanimity, for they
deserve it. No people have ever dared as they did. No people
have ever endured as they did. Aye, by the God of battles, no
people have ever fought as they did. They have proven
themselves the master revolutionists of all history. To treat such
people otherwise than indicated would be the quintessence of
baseness, cowardice and pusilanimity."

Had that magnanimous course prevailed, as it probably
would had it been left to the decision of the true soldier element
of the North, the asperities and animosities of the war had long
since been as effectually wiped out as have the earthworks
around your towns that the war called into being. But, alas,
those "sons of thunder," mouthers, ranters and hothouse
politicians, who had a Falstaffian repugnance to the villainous
smell of saltpetre when they could get a whiff, and illustrate
John Phoenix's sneer of "Soldiers in peace, citizens in war," had
no notion of giving up their chief stock in trade.

In January, 1863, he was ordered to North Carolina with a
division to repulse a threatened attack on the W. & W. R. R.
Here he remained in active service till May ensuing, when he
was made Major-General and superseded Gen. D. H. Hill in
the command of Richmond, when the latter was transferred to
Bragg's army in the West. Here he remained about two
months, when sickness compelled him to give up the command.

In October, 1863, he was assigned to command in East
Tennessee, and drove the enemy as far south as Knoxville, and
in November had a brigade of cavalry, and then was ordered to
Richmond "for other and distant service." It was the President's
purpose to assign him to the command of the trans-Mississippi
Department, and his nomination to a Lieutenant-Generalcy was
sent in. But the threatened condition of affairs at Richmond, and
the confidence reposed in him by the President induced a
change in that arrangement, and he was assigned to the
command, having for its object the defense and protection of
the Confederate capital.

How well that duty was performed is shown by a manuscript
letter of Mr. Davis to him, from which I make a short extract:
"You had been my main reliance for the defense of
Richmond. You had shown both your gallantry and capacity
before you were ordered to reinforce Beauregard for
temporary service." This letter bears date of 19th of March,
1887, only two years before that immortal man left us. Only six
weeks before his death I heard from his own lips strong
confirmatory evidence of the high estimate in which he held
General Ransom. This was fully shared by the devoted and

gifted widow of our Chieftain. When compiling his biography,
she wrote me an urgent letter to try and induce Bob Ransom to
go down to Beauvoir and help her in the work. This
unfortunately was out of his power to do.

Apropos of those two men, the last time that I ever saw Gen.
Robert Ransom was, I believe, in the summer of 1891, at the
reunion of the old Confederate Veterans' Association at
Wrightsville, at which he was the then President, and of which I
had been the first. In consequence, I was booked as the orator
of the occasion, and took as my theme: "Our hero President
with his jailor as concomitant." In that large crowd of honored old
gray beards there was no more attentive listener present than
their honored head. When my address was ended, he was the
first to grasp my hand and to thank me, as he was pleased to
phrase it, for a worthy tribute to one of the truly grand men that
the world had known. Those who knew him who uttered it can
appreciate the compliment, for he was one who never indulged
in double-faced meaning. Do not mistake my friends, he was not
alluding to the "concomitant," the key bearer, the riveter of
fetters in that deplorable episode in our national history. No, he
was not referring to the Promethean torturer, by classic tradition
the vulture, by ornithologists the buzzard, "exulting in the glory
of the night" over the agonies of a shackeled giant. A creature
we are told of insatiable maw is that same bird with gorge of
honors such as a real hero has no right to aspire beyond this
gorgeous thing looks higher still. There must be a special grade,
forsooth, up to this time filled by three or four world-recognized
heroes re-created to fit his transcendent merits. Tell it not in
Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon. Did Hudson Lowe
reach the high command of the British army? Did "Simon the
cobbler" ever grasp the Marshall's baton of France?

No, he was not talking of such a thing as this, but of an old
man in gray down on the Mexico Gulf who had lately left us,
weighed down by cruel usage and the cares of state. He had
held the proudest and most difficult place ever held by mortal
man, and filled it too. Aye, according to the Hon. Mr. Roebuck,
in the House of Commons, filled it as none

other on the then habited globe could have done. He was the
head and front of the sublimest cause ever espoused by heroes
at its death. He was the head and front of our offending, or, at
least, as a vicarious sacrifice, they fain would so have finished
him, had the law and the world's opinion permitted. Despite
the systematic tortures of this petty tyrant, he lived on for
twenty years and died as his friends proclaimed him, and the
discriminating world now proclaims him, "one of the grand men
in the tides of time." His keeper, such by the accidency of
circumstances or the restriction in the field of selection, is
given the pitiful power of degrading his own government in the
vain endeavor to degrade the other by tyranny to its Chieftain.
Pardon the emphasis of my English, oh friends, for it is my style
under provocation, and is bound to come out when the artesian
pressure at the bottom gives the impulse.

But to return. Besides checkmating raiders, he was assigned
to special duty under General Beauregard to meet Butler's
movement near Bermuda Hundred. He commanded the left
wing and repulsed the enemy's right. With him, as the General
in command, there is every reason to believe that the battle
below Drury's Bluff would have been a crushing and an
overwhelming defeat to Butler. In special orders the day after
the fight, General Beauregard was pleased to compliment his
divisional General in most eulogistic terms. On the l0th of June,
nearly a month later, in his report to the war office, he virtually
unsays what was then published and animadverts on Generals
Ransom and Whiting. There be some who opine that the
change of tone in the two documents as to the first was simply
self explanatory, when the commanding General discovered
that there was a feeling of general disappointment at general
results that day obtained, and that he preferred for others to
bear the responsibility to shouldering it himself. So did not
Robert Lee after Gettysburg.

I beg to add here the following statement made in a recent
letter from that good soldier, that hard fighter, that devoted and
faithful man, Gen. William Gaston Lewis:

"I shall always believe that the order I received from

General Robert Ransom to forward and attack the enemy at
double quick, saved Drury's Bluff and also Richmond."

Be that as it may, there is no denying that the discrepancy
of statement is very extraordinary, to say the least.
Unfortunately for him, it was not the first time that that
redoubtable gentleman had had recourse to like tactics to
extenuate his own incapacity in the hour of almost assured victory.
Superiors, as well as subordinates, must undergo like criticism
when he needed a shield, as witness the President and the
Senior General of the army. But to return to General Ransom.
In June, 1864 he was assigned to the command of Early's
Cavalry in his movement to meet Hunter and was with him all
through his march to the rear of Washington in July, 1864. He
was taken sick and relieved August 15th, 1864, and was on
leave until September of same year when he was sent as
President of Court of Inquiry to investigate outrages reported to
have been done on Morgan's last raid into Kentucky.

In November, 1864, he was sent to the command of
Charleston and surrounding country, which renewed sickness
compelled him to give up shortly afterwards.

Such is the brief outline or synopsis of the war record of Bob
Ransom, and it is one that any man and his posterity might well
be proud of. As adjunct to it, pardon a few extracts from a
manuscript letter of his of December, 1883. It was written to
one of his old soldiers and couriers, Professor Nat Allen, of
Kingstree, S. C., who submitted a sketch for a magazine
publication for his revision and correction. They are given as
evidence of his high sense of honor, of truth and honesty, which
would not permit him to profit by the partial mistakes of a loving
friend whilst at the same time he modestly claims what he was
justly entitled to.

He writes: "In some respects you are mistaken. I did not
supersede or relieve Sam Jones in S. W. Virginia and East
Tennessee. I reported to him as a subordinate. You were right
as to my doing the work and entirely independent of his
directions, for he gave me none. I did not decline to go to the
trans-Mississippi, but I did not suit politicians, and the pressure
being so great around Richmond, was by the

President's order assigned command at Richmond and
Department of Henrico. I stopped Butler. The affair at
Rogersville was on the 6th of November, 1863. . . . I took
command of Earley's Cavalry at Lynchburg, Virginia, about the
18th or 19th of June, 1864. Disorganized as was this force, I
made it do some good service. I got nearer to Washington,
D. C., I believe, than did any other general officer of the
Confederacy, going within less than a hundred yards of the
works north of the city. In November, '64, I went to Charleston,
S. C., and left there just after Christmas and was no more on
duty. At Malvern Hill my brigade made the last charge and my
men fell at the muzzles of the enemy's cannon. At Sharpsburg, I
masked (?) the junction of Early and Hood, who fought out, and
repulsed Sumner's and Hooker's attacks during the day. At
Fredericksburg, with less than 5,000 men I repulsed the Federal
attacks with a trifling loss to us, killing over 2,000 Federals. I
think though, my best service was in organizing the First North
Carolina Cavalry, and in my work at Kinston, N. C., in the spring of
'62, when I brought order out of chaos, after the fall of
Newbern, and in my operations around Richmond in '64 (the
spring), when with only a handful of men I prevented the fall of
the city against raids and Butler s attacks. I have been trying to
get up data, but it seems a hopeless job, and I hate to write
anything which will not be complete and
convincing. . . . . It does appear that I am for all my
life to be at hard employment. Well, better wear out too
quickly than rust out and linger too long. I return the paper,
and if you can correct it satisfactorily and do justice to
Brigadier-General W. E. Jones for his part at Rogersville,
for you know he was in immediate command, I will as fully
appreciate and recognize your kindness and friendship as a
grateful man can. Be sure not to claim anything for me
that is not justly mine. . . . Faithfully yours."

Much of this letter, my friends, is repetition in the main, but it
is given as confirmation of what was gleaned from other
sources, for you who knew him well will affirm that he would
not claim anything for himself that is not justly his."

And now, my friends, with a brief summary of character,
we will close this too extended sketch.

Old Tom Carlyle hath pungently said in effect if not in words,
that "none but earnest men do deeds worth chronicle." True for
you, old Epigram, and here is an illustration. Bob Ransom was
an earnest man. Convince his judgment and every fibre and
impulse of his nature was sure to follow to make that Judgment
good.

'Tis needless to say to those who knew him, that conscience
had first to be convinced. That done, and work or fight or
pray, "he did his level best."

I have told you as you knew before, that he was a follower
true and tried of "the Southern Cross." Those who knew him
only on the surface, little thought that there was another "Cross"
for which he strove within himself even more strenuously. I
know it of observation in the dead hour of night, and have had it
confirmed by tongue of one whose words with me is almost
tantamount to either of the five senses, his old comrade in arms,
the late Col. E. D. Hall; judging from his war diary he seemed
never to have missed divine service when secular duties permitted
his attendance. One entry is here inserted; April 8th, '64, "Last Day.
Tried faithfully and piously to observe it."

"So groan'd Sir Launcelot in remorseful pain,
Not knowing he should die a holy man."

Whilst few had higher regard for the good opinion of the
discerning good, none held in more sovereign scorn the
ephemeral popularity, for which small men strive as good
supreme of earthly aspiration. Perhaps in him it was carried a
fraction too far, both in peace and war. His idea was that an
approving conscience is essential to happiness. "The rest is but
tinsel and gewgaw;" so held Socrates, the philosopher wisest of
men.

It may be a fallacious creed for worldly gain, but for eternal
give it me every time before that of the smiling, smirking
time-server, now this, now that, all things to all men. It is
essentially the faith of brave, high strung, straightforward,
self-reliant natures, for sturdy independence and freedom
from cant, duplicity, hypocrisy, and policy, the world has

rarely seen Bob Ransom's match. He had an instinctive
repugnance to anything that bore in slightest the semblance of
unseemly claim, or cringe or fawn or untruth.

Ladies and old comrades, I have tried to give you in my feeble
way the limn and outline of a hero, one who reflected glory on
his State and her cause as he did in our frail humanity and as he
would have done on the "Table round of Arthur and his chosen
twelve." He was one of the 126,000 according to official count,
that North Carolina sent to the front in those trying and telling
times. Heroes all they were, except the exceptional few
homesick gentlemen who could not get along on rather
precarious camp fare with only for saltpetre for seasoning, and
had to go home with or without leave, for "pies and things."
Scratch the names of such off the roll, and we have an
immortal roster left in very truth. Her contribution to the cause,
North Carolina's I mean, was so overwhelmingly in excess of
the others, that to spare the feelings of the others we'll omit
comparative figures. Suffice for purpose that no other State
approximated her in soldiers, none surpassed her in gallant
deeds, none equalled her in graves. I said that he was a unit of
the 126,000 heroes, barring deserters, that are accredited to
North Carolina. As times will not permit to call the roll and
specify their deeds in detail, we must take a few of their typical
leaders as illustrative of the men they led. Without the backing
of these last they could never have risen to the proud grade of
historic front. It takes heroes to make heroes. 'Tis ever so.

"Ye brave en masse who fall and pass to the leaden halls of death,
There are palms for the few, but alas for you,
Not a leaf from the victor's wreath.'

Let it content us, brothers, duty well performed must needs
be our meed and guerdon. What higher meed need men
demand? Here are a few of you who inscribed your names
high on the historic scroll, and most of whom did die or cause
espoused. I take at random George Anderson and Junius
Daniel, Pender and Pettigrew, Grimes Branch and Bragg,
Ramseur, Hoke and the other Ransom. Of course there are
many glorious names omitted, but these will do as type and
illustration of that super-human army.

After war's stern alarms were over, he settled down to the
humble citizen and devoted the remnant of his well-spent life to
the improvement of the water-ways on your coast. His
unpretentious after life was in keeping with the glorious record
that he had previously made. He lived and died a true soldier, a
good citizen and an upright gentleman.

With bowed heads and reverential mien and grateful hearts,
we thank Thee, oh God of battles and Giver of all good and
perfect gifts, that in the hour of supreme grief and
disappointment and the generation of sorrows and trials that
have followed, thou didst vouchsafe such a spotless cause and
such unsullied champions to uphold it.

Amen.

West Point Then West Point
Now.

(A letter written by "Senex" to the
Washington Post, February 3, 1901.)

Brutality is a synonym for fun. So says the savage whilst
gloating over the agonies of his victim. So thought and thinks
Dante's demons in Inferno, as they pile on the fagots for fresh
arrivals in that hope-left region. It passes belief that any, save
creatures of this debased and abnormal type, could take delight
in suffering, and, least of all, in those of their own kind. Recent
developments, however, in our two "national nurseries" for
soldiers and seamen forces the reluctant conclusion that innate
propensity in the baser sort or inflicting pain when solely a
one-sided game is not modified by fortuitous station or a little
superficial culture. The brutish instinct of the son of Aurelius,
whose chief delight on the verge of manhood was to torture
flies, naturally paved the way as his great fathers foresaw in his
successor, to Commodus, "the execrable," torturer of men. As
easy the transition from the torturer of "plebes" to the tyrant of
peoples, when opportunity places it in his power. Eliminate the
whole cowardly, detestable brood as fast as the vile nature is
developed.

Fifty years ago, says an old man, the older cadets would
have a little harmless sport out of the newcomer by jest, gibe,
or harmless boyish pranks, rarely, if ever, transcending the

gentleman's bound of courage, decency, and inborn gentility.
There was a tradition then, still current on "The Point," old
Senex continues, which may have had much to do with putting
a curb on vulgar, upstart pretension. But to the story, be it
purely apochryphal or mostly true, and the last is my diagnosis,
having ever believed that "the boy is father of the man." The
tale is told as it was told at the time, half a century ago.

Back in the "twenties," so the tradition runneth, quoth
"Senex," there came to the academy a stalwart son of
Kentucky, country born and country bred was he, but
high-strung and self-reliant. Modest and reserved he was by
high home culture and gentlemanly instinct, but punctilious
to a hair's breadth in questions involving his inherent rights.
Of course the lad was unknown to fame. The world had never
heard of him up to that day. It has heard of him ever since, and
will continue to hear whilst fame has tongue and men have ears.

On the night after his arrival he was waited upon by a
visiting squad of soldier cadets on a little "fun" intent. Soon one
of his visitors passed him the lie, for specific purpose of
provoking excuse for ulterior proceedings. He got it, for the
next moment he was in a recumbent position from a blow
between the eyes. Of course, such an unheard of presumption,
a plebe striking an older cadet, could not be atoned except in
blood. Such the predicate laid down by outraged dignity, to
which the offender was more than acquiescent.

"Yes," was the cool reply, "I'll fight your whole posse in
detail, in any way you may elect, if you will only promise 'fair
play.'"

With both sides so very accommodating, of course the
preliminaries were soon arranged.

Place, Kosciuske's garden. Time, just after reveille in
the morning. Weapons, muskets loaded with fifteen buckshot
each. Distance, fifteen paces.

One of the young gentlemen kindly voluntered to act as the
plebe's second. They met according to agreement, and at the
first fire the older classman fell. The younger

proceeded at once to reload his own gun with the deliberation
and nonchalance of a juvenile rabbit hunter.

"What are you doing, Plebe?" Don't you see you have
killed your man?" exclaimed his "friend," in evident alarm.

"Well, if he is dead, a little more killing won't do him any hurt,"
was the calm reply. "Wake up your dead friend and tell him for
me he had better proceed to do what I am doing, for I'm
resolved to have another shot or two before this funny party
breaks up. Here are three honest cartridges, not firecrackers.
Select one for your dead friend, and another for yourself. I will
keep the third. All three as well as the one in my gun barrel are
charged precisely alike. Of this you must take my word, but rest
assured there's lead in each. Go and report what you have
heard, and let me know tile decision of yourself and friends."

There was a hurried interchange of opinion in that mimic
"council of war" when that plebe's mandate for a plebiscite
became known. The story runs that the "dead man" evinced
more vitality and a more pacific spirit than any other in that
conclave of fun-seekers and merry-makers. They do say that
after he came to life he talked with a fluency and volubility until
then dormant in advocacy of acquiescing in the bullheaded
plebe's demands. They do say, too, that he had a most eloquent
seconder in the late "second" of the second party of the second
part.

"What do you demand?" was the answer brought back by
the messenger.

"An ample apology from each and all of you for your
ungentlemanly treatment, and a promise to abstain from such
in the future."

"I am authorized to say that such demand will be complied
with by all of us," was the prompt rejoinder.

For once the hazers were hazed, and innate cruelty taught a
lesson which was borne in mind for many a day thereafter.

History tells of another plebe in the dim bygone who,
single-handed, "held the bridge" against advancing hordes
of normal brutality. Who will say that the incident mentioned
does not entitle the later plebe to kindred plane with that since
held by "the brave Horatius?" The sportsman's

intuition on discharge told the boy that there was only a
blank cartridge in his gun, and missing his target, a pair of legs,
at short range settled it beyond doubt, hence his resolve to try
"phlebotomy" as a curative for cowardly practical joking. It has
been seen how it worked.

It may be asked whence the obvious and admitted
degeneracy in the tone and esprit de corps of the Military
Academy of late years.

"Fifty years ago," continued Senex, "the West Point corps of
cadets was the most truthful, chivalrous, high-toned body of
young gentlemen that could be found in the world. Truth,
courage, regard for the rights of others, especially the weaker
- in a word, inborn and cultivated manhood - developed men,
heroes, and gentlemen, surpassing for the time of its brief
existence any other school that the world had known in that
regard. In those halcyon days; I had a cadet friend (one of
many) to whom I was deeply attached until the inception of the
war between the States, he espousing the Northern and I the
Southern side of the great question at issue. The estrangement
thus produced continued for many years thereafter, when by
mutual consent we met again on the old tramping-ground. War
questions were, by tacit understanding, ignored, and we were in
our middle manhood - boys again - roaming over familiar
scenes and recalling old friends and incidents of the early
manhood days. He had been a ripe and ready scholar, and
graduated near the head of his class
and been a close student ever since. As a consequence, almost
on emerging from the section room he had been called to fill
one of the most important chairs in the academic staff, and he
filled it creditably. In one of our turns about evening parade, I
stopped and put this direct question to him:

"'Tell me, amigo mio' whether the same high sense of honor
pervades that line that did in our day, when the slightest
suspicion of prevarication or falsehood, even to avoid
suspension or dismissal, would consign the culprit to the
category of 'the dogs,' Anglice, 'social pariahs?'

"His answer follows, in effect: 'It grieves me, old fellow,
to tell you no; so far from it, indeed, that a bare-faced lie

on lesser inducement entails but little loss of caste among his
fellows.'

"'To what do you
ascribe this woeful deterioration?' was
the next query.

"'Partly to the
demoralizing results of war, but more to the
loss of a typical sectional equipoise as counter-balance.'

"Be his diagnosis
of 'cause' correct or otherwise,
nevertheless, conceding the predicate, and it is easy to account
for the continued downward grade culminating in the abyss of
infamy for the culprits now being developed."

Macauley asserts that lying is common to all inferior races,
and heaven-given to protect themselves against a superior
race. If so it be, what more natural than the transition to the
individual man of like base instinct from liar to torturer. The
Hottentot, the Indian, and the "heathen Chinese" are masters of
each accomplishment. The man with a white hide rarely proves
a laggard in any field of competition on which his ambition
prompts him to enter.

Fayetteville, N. C.

W. J. G.

A PAPER ON JEFFERSON DAVIS.

An Address by Col. W. J. Green, Delivered to the Young
People of Fayetteville
on the Ninety-Fifth Birthday of the President of the Southern Confederacy -
The Life and Character of the Great Leader Described by One who Knew
Him Well.

The following address
on President Jefferson Davis was
delivered before the young people of Fayetteville on the ninety-
fifth anniversary of Mr. Davis' birthday, by Colonel Wharton J.
Green. It was published in the Fayetteville Observer by
request of J. E. B. Stuart chapter Daughters of the
Confederacy, and a copy has been sent to The Observer with
a request for its reproduction in the columns of this paper.

"My young friends, and old friends, too, pardon a few
prefatory remarks, and I will tell you in brief why we are here
to-day to honor the memory of ex-President Jefferson Davis,
and to make it plain, you have only to be told what manner of
man he was too that we honor him because he first
honored us. He was an earnest man, and as old Tom Carlyle
tells us, no

other kind of men ever achieve anything fit to live or worthy to
survive in this world. He was a studious, a reflective, a
God-fearing man, ever tenacious of his own rights and those of his
people, but ever ready to concede as much to others, which
constituted him a just man. He was a typical and representative
man of a class embodying the grandest civilization and most
finished society that the world contained, now fast becoming
extinct, and which when it does, the world can never know it's
like again. Such was the "old South," which witlings of "the
new" are prone to deride as having been deficient in "Push" and
appreciation of material or commercial prosperity. Correct they
are, for that class was so old fogy as to have a marked
preference for sterling, old-fashioned gentility over the garish
substitute that has come to the front under the effulgent new
order of things subsequently. This man was an illustration of the
first, the purse-proud aristocracy of the last. Like the old Greek,
he did not know how to play the lute or dance the Pyrrhic (or
the "german" either), but he knew how to make a small State
great, for he was of a race that turned out men, "high-minded
men," and not mere physical and intellectual dwarfings, or
moneyed mountebanks.

"Ill fares the land to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay."

He came of a race of modest mein, but assertive manhood,
one that knew it's rights, and knowing, dared maintain. One
that evolved heroes, sages, statesmen, and grandest of
all gentlemen, in more prolific outcrop than any other of like
time and count has ever done or will do, henceforth and
forever. I repeat, after mature deliberation and due reflection,
and after being a close and untiring student of history through
life, that this man, Jefferson Davis, first and only President of a
short lived but immortal Republic, when history comes to be
written, as it should be, will loom up as one of the world's
grandest characters, the peer of Aurelius, Washington and Lee
(grandest triumvirate that the world has known). Can praise or
appreciation go higher? From the day he mounted his pony, as
a little lad of seven years

old to ride through three great States to matriculate in his first
public boarding school, he showed the stuff that was in him.
Thence on to the end of his glorious and most eventful life, if he
ever fell short or proved derelict in any duty devolving upon him,
after filling the highest positions under two great governments;
and one, the most trying and exacting ever occupied by mortal
man I cannot recall it. Did ever man go to render his final
account with such a balance sheet as that before? If so, close
historical research has failed to bring it under my eye. He was
never over elated by success, and for near three score years, he
had his full allowance of it nor was he ever unduly depressed by
"the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," and in his
declining years, he seemed to be a favorite target for the shafts
of the fickle jade. He received the praise and plaudits of the
impartial world with same sublime poise and 'equanimity,' that
he did the gnat stings of a petty tyrant, whose chiefest delight
was to inflict the torture that he could upon his helpless victim.
See latent retort of scorn:

"The man who dies by the adder's fang
May have the crawler crushed, but feels no anger;
'Twas the worm's nature, and some men are worms
In soul, more than the living things of tombs."

This withering scorn of one of the immortal poets in speaking
of a low, base, depraved nature, might be supposed to have
been his thought whilst undergoing the instinctive brutality of
this crawling creature. And here comes in the reason for
selecting this spot as the place of our meeting. On an invalid
couch and within sound of my voice lies a noble sick lady. For
over twenty years she has hardly left that bed of suffering for a
day at a time. Her admiration and veneration for this world
hero surpasses that of any that I have ever known, except my
own. When refused and denied by his resplendent jailor the
commonest necessaries and comforts of life, even down to a
sufficiency of bedding, after that solace of an old soldier, his
pipe, had been taken away from him, it occurred to this truly
good woman that a thick, warm quilt might lessen his sufferings,
and thereupon she made one and sent it to him post-haste. Her
unpretentious life has been replete

with beautiful little benefactions and Christian charities, but
none has reached the standard of this. I am prepared to believe
on the glass of cold water basis that for this one good act alone,
when she knocks at the golden gates, there will be but little
question of admission on the part of the gate-keeper. Never
was gift more thankfully received, as evinced in his loving
inquiries about the donor on the occasion of my last visit to him,
six weeks before his death. Young ladies, if I had been born of
your sex and hers I would rather have been the maker and giver
of that bed-spread to that poor, suffering, but immortal man,
than any Zenobia, Cleopatra or Semiramis who has figured in
history. Hence, although I had about resolved never to try and
speak in public again; nevertheless when her request came for
me to do so on this occasion, it wasn't in me to say nay. And so
Mrs. Jessie K. Kyle is solely responsible for the infliction you
will undergo to-day. And yet mock-modesty does not forbid the
remark that, in some respects few living men are better suited
to the task. :Few knew him better or longer, and none honored
and revered him more in life and death. Truly can I say of him
what I published of another in The Boston Herald, in a letter
written from Rome some five and forty years ago. It was the
spontaneous outburst of a young patriot of demoniac fury about
to burst over his own beloved land: "To-day we stood on the
spot where stood the bridge defended by 'The Cocles' in the
brave days of Rome. Well do I recall the day, when as an
unsophisticated country school boy I first perused the
enchanting story, and I thought then, as I think now, that I would
rather have been that bold plebian with naught to commend him
of which we are aware, save a strong arm, a stout heart, and a
free, unfettered spirit, backed by a patriotism paramount to
every other consideration, than all of the Alexanders and
Attilas, Totilas and Tamerlanes, Cæsars and Bonapartes, who
have been the curse of their kind, combined and consolidated in
one grand legitimate cut-throat. That was penned by a mere boy
near a half a century bygone. Let him substitute the identity of
another Horatius, another for the captain of the gate, a Cocles
for a Cocles (blind of one eye), or, to make it plain, Jefferson
Davis for Horatius, and by my conscience I stick to what was
then uttered. Yea,

verily, rather be that frail, half-blind man, the later on "Captain
of the Gate," and "Holder of the Bridge," at times like his
prototype of antiquity, almost single-handed, and ever with an
"eye single" to his high and holy trust, than the whole aggregation
of great captains only, have reddened the earth solely for selfish
aim and greed of gain. My last interviews with this superbest of
men that I have ever known, and I am prepared to believe that
the world has ever known, came on invitation to visit him, only
six or eight weeks before he left us. Perhaps the invitation was
not accepted by return of mail, and I didn't put in an appearance
at "Beauvoir" as fast as steam would take me. But such
inference is improbable, and not true to the record. The three or
four days passed in that charming abode are amongst the most
delightful in recall through a somewhat eventful life. The great
man was there in his beautiful, simple, every-day domestic life,
and so was his devoted wife, and loving and most lovable
daughter, "Our Winnie," who bore before and thence on the
proudest title ever worn by woman, save one, and wore it with
honor and without reproach, a title transcending even that of
queenly Cornelia, of "daughter of the Scipios and mother of the
Gracchi," her throne far outshining those of "Ind or Orme," or
that of any other Oriental sultana or imperial princess of Rome,
for whilst they might sit on one of ivory and gold "the Daughter
of the Confederacy" had her's enshrined in the hearts of heroes
and the wives and daughters of heroes. John Gordon, I thank you
for the soubriquet, so worthily and appropriately bestowed on this
fascinating young woman. Let none other ever carry it.

In the welcome of this historic but unpretentious family, the
head of which was a hero in three wars, and the architect or
formulator of the most phenomenal republic of all times, were
passed three of the happiest and best improved days of my life.
From the worthiest of the disciples of the great Calhoun, a little
teaching could but come to a would-be disciple of his, in our
little daily talks. A single recital of one incident, to illustrate his
wonderful nerve, power of endurance and celerty of thought
and grasp, is here reproduced: "After the Rifles had repulsed
the attack of the Lancers, it

soon became obvious that we would soon have to receive
another charge in overwhelming force (Buena Vista), and I
realized that a change of line of battle was all important. Shortly
after the necessary order was issued, and in process of
execution, we came suddenly on a gulch or chasm, apparently
about fifteen or twenty feet across, and of about the same
depth, and sides almost precipitous. There was no chance to
flank it in time for the occasion, and so it had to be crossed. I
had to clear it en volt, a leap. Ordinarily, I would have had
confidence in my mount to clear it, for he was of blood and
mettle. But that day I had but one spur available. But crossed it
had to be, so giving orders for the command to scramble down
and up the side as best they could, I went back some fifty yards
for purchase or impetus, and went for it at full tilt and cleared it
in fine style. In the instant that I was in the air, I saw beneath a
four-mule team with the driver in the agonies of death. A minute
later, my men were crawling up the bank and we were soon in
line and prepared to receive our visitors in a proper manner. The
old soldier's face lit up with the fire of youth and old-time
conflict as he told the story, and there was no brag or bravado in
the recital. Behold the heroic man in the supreme moment of
decision before taking that perilous vault on the success of
which hinged the issue of the day and the fate of an army. This
is the man whom scullions would fain degrade by the
pusilanimous spite of expunging his name from national
monuments and memorials, which owed their being to his
patriotism and genius. A little illustration to show the folly of
puny and puerile spite to reverse the reading of history. One
day, in strolling through the Dogeana, or Ducal Palace of
Venice, I came into the famous gallery of portraits, containing
the life likenesses of all the sovereign Ducal of those immortal
"Sea Kings," all save one, which was an empty frame draped in
black. On demanding the meaning of my guide, the reply came,
"That panel, Senor, is the one for the best known (for, like you,
every stranger asks this cause of the vacant space), and many
think the most illustrious of the Dogeanic line, that is he who
"tamed the Turk," and curbed Florence, Pisa, Genoa and Amalfi,
not to name

the new city on the straits with its imperial upstarts of the
Palæologi and Commeni stocks! The speaker was a Venetian.
Opposite thereto, in the Supreme Court room in Washington,
are arranged with like precision as to detail all the Chief
Justices of the United States of America, all save one, and yet
some there be, and their name is not meagre, who hold and
maintain that the aforesaid vacant frame lacks a suitable head
in the chiefest of the justiciaries of the antecedent high-
sounding cognomen. No! Roger B. Taney and Jefferson Davis
are there to stay, as will that of the good old Venetian, Marino
Faliero, despite party pique and partisan malevolence, and the
expunging chisel or wipeout brush; they are there to stay.
Pigmies all bear it in mind that it is an easy thing to do, to efface
or obliterate figies of giants. Better let this kind alone, for your
puny scaling ladders and expunging tools can never reach the
tip of their beard.

The last time that I was brought into contact with him was at
his gorgeous funeral, all things considered, perhaps, the most
imposing and impressive ever accorded to man, for it was a
genuine outgush of feeling from the mighty concourse
assembled, estimated as high as one hundred thousand, and
everything was conducted in the plainest and simplest manner,
as he would have had it, for he loathed vulgar ostentation, as all
truly great men do. The mighty procession followed on foot
from Virginia's historic capital to quiet Hollywood, where we
laid him to rest, in, perhaps, the most beautiful spot in its
hallowed domains, overlooking the James from about its highest
point. On the march and at the grave, the place of honor was
accorded our delegation, just behind the catafalque, and at the
head of the grave. His lately penned letter in commendation of
their State, written to the Fayetteville committee on the
centennial occasion, called for no subordinate place. A brief
space thereafter, and some of us helped to place the remains of
his lovely, gifted, womanly daughter by his side. Her funeral fell
but little short of his - and there they rest, this father and
daughter, until the resurrection morn. Never higher type of the
two has this world seen. Young gentlemen and ladies, their
portraiture is given in brief to arouse imitation and emulation.
Time

forbids further elaboration. Boys, there was a man, a
combination, such as we will never look upon his like again.

You will find the study of his life and character and that of
the cause which he embodied, and those of the patriotic heroes
who helped to uphold his hands in the hours of trial, more useful
and instructive reading than the flashy trash with which the
world is now inundated. Of this last class were such men as Lee,
and Sidney Johnston, and Jackson and Forrest, and Hampton,
and Dick Taylor, and Stuart, and the Hills, and the Lees (Steve
and Custis), and half a million of other grand, self-sacrificing,
patriotic heroes, some few of whom still linger superflous on
the stage, whilst the bulk of them have crossed over the river
and are resting in the shade of the trees. Its good reading,
young gentlemen.

"Lives of great men all remind us,
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time."

And, again, from a favorite old volume of long ago (Festus),
we read: "He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest,
acts the best." All of this he did. And whilst in the quotation
mood let me add another in conclusion. My wife found it in
place in a little book of daily devotions the day we took the
funeral train at Greensboro, May 30, 1893: "And thus this man
died, leaving his death an example of a noble courage and a
memorial of virtue, not only unto young men, but unto all his
nation." (2 Macabees, 6th chapter, 3d verse.)

Friends, one and all, let me urge you never to speak of him in
the flippant style of New England South-haters as "Jeff
Davis." It comes with bad grace from a Southern tongue. He
was either President Davis, or plain, simple Mr. Davis.

My young friends, this is the ninety-fifth birthday of one of
the most remarkable men who figure in history, and whose
name and fame should be held dear by every one of Southern
birth, now, henceforth and forever.

I have been asked, as said, by our dear friend, Mrs. Kyle,
who lies on an invalid couch near-by, and who honors his

memory almost as much as I do, to tell you a little of what I
know this truly good and great man, for both he was, and
therein lay his chiefest claim upon our regard. How few fill
the bill and honor the "letter of credit" on posterity as he.
A truly good and a truly great man in combination! Grandest
sight to men or gods it is - a truly good and a truly great man.

The world, according to common repute, has had five
great captains by name and roster - Alexander, Hannibal,
Cæsar, Frederic, Napoleon. Great soldiers all they were, but
not one of them could lay claim to the combination laid down of
truly great and good. They lived and died before the days of Lee -
the superb, the peerless soldier, who, by common consent of all
competent military critics, fills the sixth place, and the needed
combination. He, too, my young friends, God be praised, was one
of us. But I come not to talk to you of mere soldiers to-day,
though no occupation is more worthy or praiseworthy, when
followed in a righteous cause, in a righteous way and for the
rights of man. No other wars or warriors can be held strictly
excusable in the eye of God and men. God be eternally praised,
ours was one of that sort, and no cause ever had grander
soldiers or more of them in proportion to opposing sides. Sidney
Johnston, Lee and Jackson, with Davis as directing head, would
sanctify, ennoble and glorify any cause left to the arbitrament of
arms. We challenge any single war to match that immaculate
quartette of immortals in chief command. Did any war ever
have completer type of justification, not to speak of their great
lieutenants down and through the rank and file, who knew how
to die themselves and to teach others how to die for what they
knew to be right?

No, it is not of the Confederate army, but of the civic chief,
without whose contriving and controlling head and directing
hand, that almost invincible army as it soon came to be
considered, could not have been kept afield or afoot for six
months, and probably not for sixty days. And yet for four years,
under his superb and matchless manipulation, it did and endured
more than any other army has ever done, Greek, Roman or
English not excepted. Of course, after the formative

crisis, it became a case of mutual dependence and support,
the one on the other, the executive on the army, the army on the
executive. Luckily for both and for the cause, neither rarely fell
short in its allotted work. But it is chiefly of the executive, or to
be precise, of the presidency, and of him who filled it, that I
propose to talk to you to-day. Great soldiers merely have been
no rarity in the world, since wholesale throat-cutting first came
into vogue. But great men, all-round men, have ever been and
will ever continue to be more of a curiosity and a historic world
wonder. The great Marlborough, "Little Jack Churchill," was
undoubtedly a great soldier, perhaps until Lee put in an
appearance, the greatest of all the English speaking ones of the
tribe, but who in the face of his time-serving, self-seeking
instincts and proclivities, and easy and ever-shifting political
principles, and infidelity to faith and plighted word, would ever
think of writing his name in the little book of truly great men. It
was, I repeat, for the last named as a professional soldier to
complete the combination, and stand forth for all time the model
soldier and ideal man. Most fortunate he was in final
development, in having for chief, one of kindred mould, and for
cause one as immaculate as the untrodden snow. Both in unison
were essential to the full make-up of the man. He could never
have reached his full stature as commander of the "Tenth
Legion" under Cæsar, or of the "Rear Guard" on the great
retreat (freely rendered, "panic") under Napoleon, because,
forsooth, his judgment could not have relied on the captain, or his
conscience on the cause in either case. But here there was the
entente cordiale, the thorough accord all around. See the
outcome the grandest outcrop of creation, Davis and Lee, the
grandest brace of heroes that ever immortalized any antecedent
struggle between the sons of men. Are you not proud, young
ladies and gentlemen, that you are of the same race and tribe
with Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee? If not, you should set to
work to correct the defects of neglected education. But to the
work in hand, let it be premised, that it was my proud privilege to
know them both, and the one whom we are considering,
intimately from my boyhood days to that of his death, as
numerous letters from him can attest,

as well as the bequeathal of his inksand, most valued heirloom in
my house. In that acquaintance began, ripened and continued to
the end, is the secret of my love, admiration and hero-worship of
the man. It has never flagged or grown dimmer, but on the
contrary intensifies with each recurring year. My first
acquaintance with him began during his first term in Congress,
when he was a man of 37 years, and I a boy of fourteen. It is
needless to say, there could be no great intimacy between two of
our divergent ages, but, boarding at the same house, a Mrs.
Potter's, I believe, on Pennsylvania avenue, near Sixth street, and
our rooms contiguous. I being the only juvenile in the
establishment, (the others being grave Senators and members of
Congress,) I naturally saw much of him in his leisure hours. In
fact, out of compliance with my father's request, who was his
friend, but absent on business, he kept a kind of casual
supervisory outlook over me until I was consigned to my college,
and he to the colonelcy of the First Mississippi Rifles, in the
Mexican war, which he made immortal as well as himself by his
superb management. At Buena Vista, it is generally conceded
that he saved the day at more than one critical juncture. The
general in command, sturdy old Zach Taylor, a little later on,
lovingly dubbed "Old Rough and Ready," realized his obligation to
him at once and although connected by closest family tie, had
refused to extend him friendly greeting for many years anterior.
A well authenticated story has it that without dismounting after
battle he rode over to the colonel's tent, who was lying on a pallet
with a shattered foot. "Colonel Davis," he said, "will you deign to
take my hand?" Quick came the reply: "More gladly, general,
than I ever did anything in my life." The reconciliation was
complete. Girls, would you like a little love story in this
connection? Well, you shall have it. Shortly after the cadet was
turned into a lieutenant he was sent to the then northwest, to
wear the gilt off his epaulets and spurs, and to help catch Black
Hawk, the famous Indian warrior, who was making things lively
in those parts for the settlers. This was done, and the conquered
Indians, including their chief, were prisoners under his care. He
subsequently received the thanks of Black Hawk for his

courtesy to the conquered. Quotation this last. Observe the
difference accorded to prisoners, (though only barbarians), by a
gentleman jailor and that received by himself from an
inflated, upstart tyrant later on? Having served a long
probation as a prisoner of war myself, I was brought in touch
with each class, and to draw the line of demarcation between
the two, to honor the one and to loathe and despise the other. If
it be a sin to put the systematic torturer of our "grand old man" in
the contemptuous class, God help me, I can't help it, and perhaps
I am not disposed to make an over-strenuous effort in that
direction. History tells us of many brutal keepers of illustrious
State prisoners. Few, if any there are, whose name and fame I
covet less than that of one Simon-the-Cobbler, the torturer unto
death of a little boy king, known as the Dauphin, whose only
crime was that he was the son of his father and mother, known
in history as Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, who were
murdered by the insane mob government of that day. The
question arose what was to be done with their poor little eight-
year-old orphan, then de facto King of France. Murder him they
could as they had his parents, but were afraid to for fear of
intensifying the horror and indignation of all Europe, already at
fever heat. So it was resolved to accomplish the same end by slow,
deliberate, systematic cruelty and torture. But where could a
creature so base be found as to carry out such a demoniac
purpose? It was at that juncture, when true soldiers held back
aghast, that this creature, more loathsome than a toad, or
vampire, or devil fish, came for name, laterized, as soldier. Ye
Powers! for a consideration he would undertake the job. He got
it, yes, Simon-the-Cobbler was promoted to be the keeper of a
King with the implied, if not expressed, condition, that he was,
like the fabled vulture of old, to feed on the vitals of his helpless
victim until the vital spark was sped. He complied with his part
of the contract with scrupulous exactitude!

The fancy has sometimes come over me, what if you were
reduced to the dread alternative of making choice between the
Cobbler and another later on whose name, latinized, is
Soldier. (Ye Powers eternal what a travesty on nomenclature!)

who gladly discharged the same villainous functions;
which would you rather be of the two? The question still
remains unsettled in my mind, notwithstanding the difference in
prominence and position of the jailors.

But to come back to our story: The post to which the young
man was assigned was under the command of a bluff old colonel
with a charming daughter, who he declared with military
emphasis and intonation should never marry in the army. Now
that was just what the young lady wanted to do, and what the
lieutenant wanted to do likewise. But the colonel was incorrigible,
and the young couple, being respectors of parental authority and
military mandate, were compelled to put off the nuptial day until
the obstacles could be removed or avoided. Two years later he
resigned his commission, and deeming now that all rational
objection on the part of her father was removed, he hurried to
Louisville, met his sweetheart, and the twain, Jefferson Davis
and Sarah Knox Taylor, were married at the house of the bride's
aunt, a sister of her father, with other near relations on hand to
sanction the event by their presence, in July, 1835. All the
sensational stories about an elopement are purely fabulous and
without foundation. Their married life and happiness was all too
short lived, for in three short months he was a widower. She was
a sister of the accomplished Lieutent-General Dick Taylor, who,
as a major-general in command, won one of the might-have-been
decisive victories of the war, at Mansfield, but of which he or
rather we were cheated, as at Bull Run and Shiloh and
Murfresborough, but supernal incompetency in command after
the victories were won, and who afterwards wrote one of the
most graphic and interesting books of the war yet
penned - "Destruction and Reconstruction." The sequel of the
story has been anticipated in the "make-up" interview between the
two on the field of Buena Vista, the older giving a clincher to the
renewed bond of friendship with the remark: "I am convinced
Jefferson, that Sarah was a better judge of men than her father."
Each of them became a reluctant President later on, both
preferring the camp to the cabinet. Their bond of union thence on
to the end was that of father and son.

On the 26th of February, 1845, Mr. Davis was married to
his second wife, the gifted and accomplished Varina Howell,
daughter of William Burr Howell, and grand-daughter of
Governor Richard Howell, of New Jersey, who still survives
him, and has given us the finest and most complete life of her
illustrious husband yet published and one of the model
specimens of biographical literature extant.

President Polk tendered him the commission of brigadier-
general in recognition of his services at Monterey and Buena
Vista, which he respectfully declined, owing to the State's
rights views and doubts as to the right of appointing power.

"President Pierce, with whom he had been domesticated for
a winter when they were both young (I think at Mrs. Potter's,)
in making up his cabinet in 1863, urged upon Mr. Davis the
acceptance of the portfolio of war and he reluctantly took his
place in the executive family March 4th, 1853. His conduct of
the Department is a matter of public record. The army was
judiciously but emphatically strengthened; the coast was more
fully defended; the coast survey and geodetic observations
were extended; and the fields of astronomy, zoology, botany
and meteorology were fully exploited.

"He ordered the survey for the construction of the Pacific
railway; added to the fortifications of the New England and
Pacific coasts; repressed Indian hostilities, and provided for
the more speedy transportation of guns and ammunition in case
of need. He recommended national armories, urged the
extension of the pension system to widows and orphans of
soldiers and took the initiatory measures for a retired list.

"He also had charge of the enlargement of the national
capitol by the addition of two wings to provide a new senate
chamber and hall of representatives and the construction of a
more imposing dome to the structure.

"Under his administration the Washington aqueduct and
Cabin John Bridge was built, the largest single span arch in the
world. President Pierce's cabinet presents the only instance in
the history of a presidential administration in which no change
was made in the personnel. Mr. Davis was returned to the
United States Senate by the Legislature of

Mississippi in 1857 and took his seat March 4th,
immediately on leaving the cabinet. On a visit to Boston
he spoke at Faneuil Hall on October 12th, 1858, on the
condition of the country and the dangers besetting it. He
pleaded for the protection of the independence of the States for
which New England and all the States fought, and for a strict
construction of the constitution, framed and adopted by the
founders.

Such was this man. Jefferson Davis, the only President of
the Confederate States. In a word, and take him all for all, he
was in universal heroic attribute to the closest copy of the
Immortal Roman that I have ever seen in life or in books.
That he was a patrician, polished, cultured and refined, goes
without question. A soldier, orator, organizer, writer of
highest type in combination, since Imperial Cæsar passed, is
my estimation of the man. Let some other nominate a worthier
if he can. Add the highest attributes of self-negation,
unselfishness and patriotic devotion to lifelong and unswerving
principles, and some may think that the reputed first of men
should take the second place in the computation."

Daughters of the Confederacy: At your bidding I am here to
talk to you of two of the grandest men that the world has
known. Nor can I imagine a more appropriate beginning than
the opening words, on a similar occasion, of the most valued
friend whom I have known in life; one whom I loved next to my
father. What shall his title be? State Governor, U. S. Senator,
Lieutenant-General, or simply that inborn, ingrained, undeviating
gentleman? for each and all he was at times, and the last at all
times. It is needless to say that his name is Wade Hampton. It
is culled from his eloquent address delivered before the Society
of Confederate Soldiers and sailors in Maryland on the 12th of
October, 1871, on the Life and Character of General Robert E.
Lee. Taken as a whole, it is one of the most exquisite eulogies
that has ever fallen under my eye. Every word and utterance
was felt to the core, for the two were of kindred soul, and
twin brothers

in loftiest patriotism and sublime self-negation. Here is the
excerpt alluded to with conjoint regret that time and occasion
calls for any excerpt from that superb production instead of
giving it entire: "Whilst appreciating the compliment that brings
me before you, it is with a profound sense of my inability to 'rise
to the height of this great argument,' that I assume the duty of
your kindness has imposed; nor would I venture to do so,
comrades of the Confederate service, were it not that it seems
to me no duty can be more sacred than that which bids every
true man of the South, at all times, by all means, in all places, to
pay homage to the character, and honor to the memory of our
great leader. To myself, whose good fortune it was to follow that
illustrious Chief from the beginning to the close of the
marvelous career, which has placed his name by the side of
those of the world's greatest captains - who witnessed his
grand magnanimity in the flush of his proudest triumphs -
his sublime serenity in the hour of disaster - who was
sustained by his constant faith in the justice of his cause,
encouraged by his kindness, and honored by his
friendship - this call to join in doing honor to his
memory has the saucity and the tenderness that death alone
can give. Once again and for the last time, I seem placed on
duty in the service of my old commander, and the voice that
summons me here, waking many of the proudest, though
saddest emotions of my heart, comes from the tomb of him
who, 'though dead, yet speaketh.'"

Ladies: By the received verdict of recognized judges in such
matters, the five great captains of anthentic history, naming
them in point of time, were: Alexander, Hannibal, Cæsar,
Frederic, and Napoleon. Just precisely the number that there
are fingers on the hand. But circumscribed as was the limit, it
was held immune from intrusion of soldiers of inferior sort or
minor degree until some forty years ago, when bolder
iconoclasts of our own great tongue made room by way of
deposition for two of their own unequalled race. 'The mad boy
of Macedon,' and the almost equally mad Sage of Bradenburg,
were told by these to descend from their pedestals and make
obeisance to Marlborough and Lee. So it stands today, and
probably will continue for centuries to come. Quintette

of the incarnate gods of war; here they are: Hannibal,
Cæsar, Napoleon, Churchill, Lee. But grand as they are, and
as are the two called down, ye powers, how they pale before
the courtly gentleman and unpretentious schoolmaster of
Lexington. Who would hesitate in the right of choice, as
between him and Imperial Cæsar? Not I, forsooth. And so by
my vote he stands the foremost man of recorded time, Paul
alone excepted.

Not that it is proposed to claim equality of plane in intellectual
development and varied achievement between him or any other
and the phenomenal all-sided man of Rome; but it is a moot
question, and ever will be, until true story of this glorious epoch
is written, if written it ever will be; could even he, "noblest man
that ever lived in the tide of times," have done as much under
like dearth of men, money and munitions? If not, then it is clear
that Robert E. Lee is entitled to his new elevation into the
exclusive five awarded him by a jury, composed of such as
Wolseley, Freemantle, Chesney, Henderson, and Long, whose
claim to the proud title of Military Critics, is acknowledged
around the world. See what the first two, who made the
Pennsylvania campaign under him, for the avowed purpose of
studying war under the greatest soldier of the age, have to say.
General Lord Wolseley, head of the English army, has this to
say: "I would instance Cæsar, Hannibal, Marlbourough,
Napoleon and General Lee, as men who possessed what I
regard as the highest development of military genius - men
who combined with the strategic grasp of Von Moltke and the
calm wisdom and just reasoning of Wellington, all the power of
Marshal Bugeaud and of Souwaroff to inflame the imagination
of their soldiers, and impart to them some of the fiery spirit of
reckless daring which burned within their own breasts."

One other excerpt from Col. Freemantle, commanding
officer of the "Cold-stream Guards," the crack regiment of the
English army of that day, must suffice in laudation of this
incomparable hero and leader of heroes, the incarnation and
embodiment of poetic Spain's fabled demigod, "the Cid
Campeador," barring the latter's disregard of plighted truth, and
proclivity to Treason, both of which were beyond his capacity.

Quoting from a perusal, nearly forty years ante-date, and for
which allowance must hence be made, this in effect, is what the
gifted Englishman says of his cousin over the water: "He is the
grandest and stateliest man that I have met in life, whether afoot
or in the saddle, but especially the last. Serious but not over
solemn, his every glance and utterance indicates the soldier and
the man of thought. Free from the minor faults and foibles of
manhood, such as levity, drinking, swearing, smoking, chewing,
etc., his bitterest enemies, of whom there are few, have never
accused him of being addicted to any of the greater.""Can pen
portraiture of a perfect character go further? Ladies, you will
pardon my introducing a little more quotation from illustrious
contemporaries of our father land, bearing on the subject, and
whose estimate is naturally free from bias and prejudice of
participants in the mighty struggle of which he was the military
head. Better such than my crude opinions, and better ten
thousand times told, than the perverted, distorted, malicious and
mendacious statements of so-called historians, God save the
mark! have essayed to do through forty years of counterfeit
peace, by a prostitution of their base talents to belittling him and
his cause, a task which baffled about three millions of armed
foemen, including John Pope and a gentleman down there, who
shall be nameless, through four years that he was on the back of
old "Traveller," and had attenuated legions within call. History
forsooth of the United States of America! None of the recent
trashy stuff for my posterity, if my interdict would prevent it.
Better Munchausen, Jack, the Giant Killer, Aladdin and his
lamp, and other such transparent History, to the nauseating
fiction of post bellum days, which sails under the counterfeit and
fictitious title "History."

No modern history of the United States for me and mine,
until it is penned beyond the shadow of Bunker's Hill, and by
impartial hand.

The most veracious and reliable history of the American
Revolution ever penned, as conceded by both sides in the
struggle, was written by the Italian, Dr. Botta, who had never
set foot in the New World. Let us of the South bide the coming
of a second Botta to do the same for us, if no son of

the soil to the manner born, arises to essay the stupendous
work, and carries it out to a successful conclusion. Until that
day arrives, let the story be unwritten, if samples these be, or at
least unread by Southern youth through time and eternity. Give
us Munchausen in preference to mock heroics and mendacious
statements, palmed off by lying knaves for ture recital. But to
leave off digression. Professor George Long, one of the most
profound scholars of his day, having an intense admiration for
the great and good Aurelius, whom he seemed to regard as the
most perfect of men, compiled and published the thoughts of his
ideal hero.

The book was hardly out of press, before it was pirated by a
Northern publisher, and dedicated to a learned doctor profundus
of that quarter by the name Emerson. The English author was
naturally outraged by such unwarrantable impudence, not to
give it the less euphonic name of forgery, and expresses his
opinion in the prefatory of the ensuing edition, as here follows:
"I have never dedicated a book to any man, and if I dedicated
this, I should choose the man whose name seems to be most
worthy to be joined to that of the Roman soldier and
philosopher. I might dedicate the book to the successful general
who is now President of the United States, with the hope that
his integrity and justice will restore peace and happiness, so far
as he can, to those unhappy States who have suffered so much
from war and the unrelenting hostility of wicked men. But as
the Roman poet says:

"Victrix causa deis placuit, sed victa Catoni."

And if I dedicated this little book to any man, I would
dedicate it to him who led the Confederate armies against the
powerful invader, and retired from an unequaled task defeated,
but not dishonored; to the noble Virginia soldier whose talents
and virtues place him by the side of the best and wisest man
who sat on the throne of the imperial Cæsars."

Observe another tribute from another English admirer, Philip
Stanhope Worsley, a poet of no mean merit, with a stanza
added to the cause:

"To General Lee,
The most stainless of living Commanders,
And except in fortune, the greatest,
This volume is presented
With the writer's earnest sympathy,
And respectful admiration."

"Ah realm of tears! - but let her bear
This blazon to the end of time:
No nation rose so white and fair,
None fell so pure of crime.

"The widow's moan, the orphan's wail,
Come round thee; but in truth be strong;
Eternal Right, though all else fail,
Can never be made Wrong."

It would seem to be a recognized fact that all truly great
Captains require at least one lieutenant, or coadjutor of kindred
calibre to assist in developing or carrying out the collossal
conceptions of the originating brain. Cæsar had his in the
legionary chief of the immortal "Tenth," Marlborough his in
Eugene, Wallenstein in Tilly, Frederick his in Zlethen,
Washington in Greene, Napoleon perhaps none of marked and
supereminent degree, because forsooth, he insisted upon being
both in one. Like Bottom the Weaver, he insisted on playing all
parts in the play himself. If he had such, it was the heroic
commander on the return from Moscow, when old Michael
Ney, as chief of "The Rear Guard," was saving the remnants of
a disorganized army left without a directing head. These
undoubtedly were priceless coadjutors to generals in command.
But how far short they fell to Lee's unmatched lieutenant, the
unmatchable Jackson. The two seemed designed for each
other, and for the great occasion in which they were to act in
respective role, so symmetrically were they adjusted each for
his work. "Better it had been me than he," exclaims the great
captain when he hears of the untimely fall of the other. "Not so,
quoth the wounded hero, better a hundred dead Jacksons than
one Lee. I would have followed him blindfolded around the
world." This showed the reciprocal trust subsisting between the
two, and never was there a grander alliance between Titanic
spirits for the accomplishment of a mutual grand purpose. In
that little word "trust" lay the secret of this man's
phenomenal, marvelous success.

Coupled to his native war genius, he had implicit trust in the
justice and integrity of his cause, and absolute trust and
reliance on his two superiors, the one up yonder, the other
down here.

He likewise had implicit trust in himself and his invincible "foot
cavalry," who returned it to overplus. With such a sublime
combine of trust, not the God forsaken, unhallowed thing of later
times, no wonder he accomplished almost miracles. By good
judges the grandest feat of the "little corporal" was the
overthrow on lake Garda of the two great armies in three
consecutive days, each his numerical superior, having left his
base around beleaguered Mantna virtually depleted, in order to
supply him with his little army for offensive operations against
the advancing hordes. The strategist of that day and of
succeeding days has branded the conception madness; the result
renders a different verdict, and pronounces it sublime strategy.
Be it which it may, it had it's replica on the banks of the
Shenandoah, when the great lieutenant caught up with his chief
quartermaster, Banks, whose duty (enforced) was to supply his
men with shoes, blankets, powder and provant, and himself with
lemons. Gen. Dick Taylor says that he had an insatiate appetite
for that acrid fruit and was always sucking one, when resting on
a march, and to supply himself with that tropical delicacy, the
men were wont to say that he kept the commissary trains under
constant contribution, or else in dread apprehension (be it
understood, the enemy's commissariat.) But General Dick, in his
appetite for epigrams or antithesis must sometimes be taken,
'cum grano,' for he intimates very broadly in his facinating book
that 'old Jack, was a crazy man. If so it be, President Davis
might have plagiarized his brother President across the line of
mark when told that his new and last appointee to chief
command was a little too given to turning the little finger above
his dexter. "If I only knew his brand of whiskey," quoth
Abraham," I'd send a barrel to each of my commanding
Generals." Mr. Davis might have said to his illustrious brother-in-
law, on basis of insinuation, "I wish I knew the mandrake that
incites such madness."

His piety or rather sanctity amounted to almost austerity,

such as is rarely seen in camps, or in cathedrals either. It
impressed his followers more forcibly than did 'old Noll's' his
round-heads, for there could be no doubt of its sincerity.

But to return to the comparison of results on Lake Garda and
the Shenandoah, this must be said to the extra credit of the
Corsican over the Predestinarian. The first had for antagonists
trained soldiers and supposed masters of strategy, such as
Wurmser, Alvinzi, Davidovich and Prevara, whilst the other
was pitted against militia captains and bombastic pretenders,
like Banks, Milroy, Fremont and Pope, in which last category
must be excepted that sturdy old Irishman, Shields, who with
odds of three to one in his favor, became the half hero of
Kernstown, and might have been the whole one, had it not been
for that insuperable stonewall in his way. Appropos of that
event: Shortly after the war, one of Jackson's old troopers was
called upon to introduce Gen. Shields to a Democratic
audience in Missouri, which he did in the following neat,
pithy and pointed style as "the countryman and political follower
of one Jackson, a hero in three wars, a United States Senator
from two or three States, and the man who came nearer
whipping the other Jackson, whose surname is Stonewall, than
any other man ever did, and he didn't do it by a d--n long
sight."

Pardon another anecdote which my old and honored friend,
Hunter McGuire, his chief of the medical staff, gave me during
one of our long talks about his idolized commander. It is told
simply to illustrate his sublime self-reliance, the predominant
trait of all the greatest soldiers of all time. Said the Doctor: "I
was riding with him on the retreat from Kernstown, which I felt
sure had been decided on against his approval. Notwithstanding
the great disparity of odds against us, both in hand and within
reach, I had never seen his brow so lowering and with every
indication of ill humor and discontent. After riding along in
silence for awhile, he remarked: "I have just done a thing that I
have never done before, and shall never do again. A council of
war leaves the general in command saddled with all of the
responsibility, but impotent to follow his matured convictions, if
a majority of the tribunal prefer a counter course.

It was and is my belief that at the worst stage of the fight we
had at worst an even chance, and, if successful, the results
in our favor would have been incalculable." Some there be
who think that for once, and on this occasion, it will be the
cause of regret for all time that he did not follow the example
of his imperious and imperial prototype, when, wrapped up in
his old gray overcoat around a camp fire, he would call for the
opinions of his grizzled marshals at some grave juncture, and,
after hearing all, would drily remark: "Gentlemen your reasons
are cogent, but whilst hearing them I have decided on a plan of
my own. The council is adjourned." His usually turned out the
best.

Ladies, you have in brief, my conception of the character of
this brace of most remarkable men. Immaculate in morality and
Christian charity, transcendent in genius and fitness for the
work they were called on to perform. There were two others
of kindred type and lofty soul, who, taken in connection with
them, constitute the most superlative quartette of immortals
that ever reflected undying lustre on the self-same cause in the
self-same epoch. Jefferson Davis and Sidney Johnston are their
names. Ladies, these four were typical of the race to which
you belong, the cause which you revere. No wonder you are
proud of your paternity, and of their unsullied escutcheon in the
noblest, purest, sublimest of earthly struggles. No wonder you
exult in the soubriquet you wear: 'Daughters of the
Confederacy,' and of Confederate heroes, I doff my cap and
salute you in all deference and humility for trying to keep alive
the spark of sacred memories, which others of the sterner sex
seem equally anxious to extinguish with frivolities,
(suggesting).

"You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave -
Think ye he meant them for a slave?"

It was a proud privilege to have been the countryman, the
comrade, the follower (even in subordinate station) the friend
of some of them, trivial honors though some might view
them, which would not be exchanged for any commission

bearing Mr. Lincoln's signature, with all the subsequent
honors accruing to the possessor. It was deemed a holy duty at
the time, and has been so held religiously ever since. The
epithet of traitor in "foro conscientiae" would more than
neutralize such rewards in a Southern man for consenting to
don a blue coat at such a time. There no like imputation at
taching to those of Northern birth for preferring that color to
the less pretentious gray.

Daughters of the Confederacy, I rejoice exceedingly that the
Chapter of my home town bears the name and emblazon of a
much loved friend and classmate of my early manhood. J. E. B.
Stuart, or as he was lovingly dubbed by his intimates and
associates, "Old Beauty," abbreviated into "Bute Stuart," was a
man of opposities, but of singularly lovable character. To begin
with, like Jackson he was essentially of a religious cast of
thought in those early days, though not pushing it to the ascetic
or monastic extreme of the other, he was a devout member of
the Episcopal church, and on one of our walks remarked in
effect, that he considered "The Litany" the most beautiful and
comprehensive invocation that could be devised, both for and
against; in which opinion, I have since learned to concur. And
yet, withal, he was so full of exuberance of spirits that he would
fain at times break forth into a loud whoop, a lively song, or a
mad dash on old Flirtation walk. Such he was, half boy and half
man, during the three years of our acquaintance at the
academy. In his last or graduating year, I had drifted off to the
University of Virginia, in search of Law and Political Economy.
But when my odd friends on the Hudson were about to shake
off the Cadet chrysalis for the butterfly toggery of the
Lieutenant, impulse got the bettor, and I rushed on to the old
tenting ground to give the glorious heroes (soon to be) a parting
hand-shake. Though I say it myself, never did returning brother
receive more cordial greeting. As soon as parade was over,
invitations poured in by word of mouth from almost every one of
the dear old fellows, to share their room for the night. But "Old
Bute" took possession of me, marched me off to his room, and
then down to the "mess hall," and then back again. Perhaps old
J. E. B. and Rogers, his room-mate,

devoted the evening to their final examination, then
only a week off, but I don't think they did. Perhaps "Old Bute"
intended that blanket which he was spreading on the floor for
me instead of somebody else; but I don't think he did, as he took
it himself, leaving me no other alternative but to take his bed.
Perhaps we did as school girls proverbially do, when they meet
after a whole year of separation, and non interchange of
confidences, went to bed and went to sleep, but such is not my
recollection. True, we retired at "taps," but I will not vouch that
"reveille" found us asleep. Daughters of the J. E. B. S. Chapter,
what is your verdict based on personal experience and
presumptive inference?

He next appears in the public eye as the capturer of that
incarnate fiend Brown, at Harper's Ferry, under orders of
General Lee, and who was a little later on most justly hung,
whilst his cowardly, skulking adherents, devoid of every vestige
of his one solitary redeeming trait, have been ever since trying
to raise to the plane of apotheosis or sainthood. More deserving
the halter they.

Before he was thirty, (to be precise 27), we see him the
virtual Chief of Cavalry on the Confederate army in the east,
and the acknowledged "Rupert" of that branch of the service. If
claim of kinship there was between him and the Royal, ill
starred, and not over creditable house of Scotland, as he ever
maintained there was, let us trust that it was in direct descent
from that heroic Bohemian, on the maternal side, (Elizabeth,
Queen of Bohemia,) and not through any son of Scotia who
later on became the imported crown wearers of the sister
kingdom. Be they cousins or not, these two had certain strong
traits of character in common. Recklessly brave, jovial, light-
hearted, debonnaire they were with kindred capacity for cavalry
command. Each was the world's recognized ideal of the born
trooper. He was to us one of the stars of first magnitude in the
resplendent galaxy, which they composed. Observe a few of the
booted and spurred champions of that day: Forrest, Hampton,
Van Dorn, Rosser, Wheeler, Morgan, Bob Ransom, John
Wharton, the two Fitzhugh Lees, Ashby and others. Of course
it is not proposed to place him or any other, in that or any
antecedent war, on

the same plane of equality with the first named, Bedford
Forrest, grandest of horsemen.

By common consent of friend and foeman alike, this
phenomenal man proved himself a natural born leader of men,
especially horsemen, and usually under most untoward
conditions and circumstances, from the beginning to the end of
the struggle, fighting odds that none other fought, and without
fail to successful finish, when in chief command, and with a
roster of prisoners to his credit that none other could claim
except "the great captain, himself," even "Old Marse Robert."
There he stands, our matchless "king of the saddle, the saber
and spur." God shrive and annoynte his glorious soul for
sending more than his due proportion before the judgment seat
up yonder. I repeat that, to my thinking, since the birth of his
brother stable boy, Joachim Murat, later on Marshal of France,
and King of Naples, and for a thousand years anterior the
world has not seen his prototype for the work that he was
called on to discharge. Martinets may say in depreciation, that
he was ill acquaint with "the school of the soldier," to which
may be added, or any other; but where was the Master of
Schools or of Arts that ever approached him in outreach of
accomplishment?

Ladies, if some may urge, in derogation of these homely
remarks, that I have been over-lavish in superlatives, be mine
the reply, that it was an epoch of superlatives, of high and low
degree, in actors, in plot, in development, and events. My effort
has been to confine remark to the first or higher class, where
praise was legitimately due, and to ignore the other and
leave it to other and more willing hand or tongue to discuss.

Daughters of the Confederacy, of the J. E. B. Stuart
Chapter, (worthy sponsorial namesake to worthy Daughters),
you have sincerest appreciation for the honor done me.

I will close by requesting my friend, Mrs. Dr. MacRae, to
give us in her own inimitable style that glorious camp song,
which, owing to salt in the eve and frog in the throat, I have
never been able to read aloud myself.

"It was Stonewall Jackson's way."

Gettysburg Reminiscent -
After a Hiatus of Forty Years.

I am just back from Gettysburg, where I
went a week or two ago to try and locate to my own
satisfaction the lines of battle of the opposing armies, on the
momentous first day's fight. To carry out this purpose, I put in
an appearance there two days in advance of the big day. Most
fortunate was the combination of time and circumstance, as it
enabled me to take in the field under as good pilotage as ever
falls to the lot of pilgrim to that historic shrine, and no where is
such more needed. To make the tour, relying only on the vague
recollection of a participant of forty years anterior, or the usual
parrotty verbiage of a professional guide, is like threading the
labarynth without the ball of twine.

On the train from Baltimore, I met my old classmate, General
O. O. Howard, whom I had seen but once since we were at the
military academy together, half a century bygone.
Notwithstanding the tremendous issue that had been involved in
the meantime, and which shook the continent from centre to
circumference, in which we saw duty from opposing standpoints
and took sides accordingly, he to rise to high fame and
distinction, whilst I came out where I went in, owing to two
years imprisonment, he met me with all the cordiality, not to say
impressement of uninterrupted friendship. It was illustration of
an oft asserted iteration, that the spirit of class Camaraderie
(as the French term it) was stronger in that school than in any
other institution organized of man before or since. The bond of
the Crusade was strong, and so is that of societies of cabalistic
Greek letter in modern college, but neither reached the
unstudied altitude of the standard there prevailing. Upon that
highland Hudson cliff, nearly a hundred years anterior
consecrated to Freedom, and the rights of man, were wont
annually to assemble about one hundred young men, of all
recognized rank, station and condition of life from every quarter,
knowing nothing of each other, or of each other's antecedents.
and nothing caring,

simply content by touch and contact to let each one show
what was in him. If the man, he was the recognized man,
thenceforth until he proved himself less than man. If a
dog of currish instincts, he went to the dogs, and there
he staid. Was ever aristocracy of grander type or conception!

There was the son of the mechanic, the farmer, the
millionaire, starting the race together, with no adventitious
advantage or serious set-back, by reason of paternity or
pedigree. Such was the "West Point" of half a century bygone,
where truth, fidelity to plight, good fellowship, good
horsemanship, good markmanship were taught and inculcated to
a degree unknown to any school in Scythia of old or any school
subsequent in or out of Scythia. Pardon the digression. We
lived together in Arcadian simplicity and brotherly love, until
the edict went forth, up and cut each others' throats. In
obedience to unquestioning mandate it was done. The query
came, how many of our fellows were killed on your side, Green?
Nine out of twelve and all general officers, was the reply;
and how was it on your's, Howard? Seven out of seventeen,
was the answer. Sixteen out of an aggregate of twenty-nine
surviving in 1861 was a no mean showing in a class that laid
aside the academic shackles less than ten years anterior
thereto. Noble fellows, and duty's liegemen they were, one and
all. Rather a concession that, coming from one heretofore
regarded as something of tacit mourner over historic results.
How was it done? I do not know unless, perhaps, I was near
recaptured, this time by kindness and courtesy on the revisit to
that field. Certain it is, that my feelings were not wounded by
harsh or jarring criticism, or the flippant, senseless use of terms,
Rebel and Rebellion, obnoxious "to ears polite," when falling
from the tongues of those who judiciously espoused the winning
side, but disgusting and doubly distilled when labialized by those
of Southern birth. It was only used once by a Northern man in
my presence, and then in a spirit of badinage: "Sit down here,
you bloody old Reb, and let me see if you are the genuine article
or only the counterfeit presentment." Such was the opening
remark of Major-General Alex. S. Webb, who held the bloody
angle against the bloodiest of all charges, fighting with

musket in hand until it was shattered by one of Alexander's shells,
and with the fragments was Alexander Webb's crownpiece.
"Say, Sep, old boy, he continued, have you still got that shrug
of the left shoulder?" The title "Sep" was one universally carried
by all September matriculates. Howard and I were and are both
"Seps," having entered on the same day, September 1st, 1850. On
the night of July 1, 1903, on the stoop of that Gettysburg hotel,
there were three of us better entitled to carry the soubriquet,
three "Septuagenarians," as I opine. But strictly this could not
apply to Webb, as he entered in June the year succeeding, and
was almost the baby of his class. Howard was the senior, being, I
believe, a graduate of Dartmouth, and the close contestant of
Custis Lee for first honor at West Point. It was his good fortune
to be the first of his grade to arrive at that little village at critical
juncture, when armies were concentrating from all points. He
found Reynolds in command, who was shortly afterwards killed,
thus devolving the chief command on himself during the first
day's fight, until Slocum came up about sundown, by whom he
was by rank superseded. Judging from a dispassionate standpoint
at this late day, the impartial critic must ascribe to Howard's
temporary command on that momentous first day, especially in
grasping the importance of Cemetery Hill and Little Round-top,
and holding possession of that pivotal point until adequate
reinforcements came up, the only credit that Meade can
legitimately claim, and the highest ascribed to him by competent
critics of his own side, of having made the three days' fight a
drawn battle. It was under his guidance and description that I
enjoyed the exceptional privilege of passing my two days in
review, forty years afterwards, with mingled feelings of
admiration for heroism, never surpassed, if ever equalled by
contending sides on any field before, not to speak of a twinge of
irrepressible sadness on account of those saddest words ever
uttered by tongue or pen: "the might have been." Let others sing
peans to victory, necessitating the overthrow of their life
cherished cause and convictions. I for one have not yet attained
to that sublime stage of philosophic consolation, or, to put it
stronger, exultation. Does

latter day patriotism enjoin, or hypocrisy sanction, such
concession?

Just after supper I was waited on by the committee of
arrangements, with invitation from General Howard to
ride with him and General Huidekoper, the two orators of
the second day (Thursday) during my sojourn. It is
needless to add, the courtesy was thankfully accepted, the
committee promising to give "Guilford," my body servant, who
was captured with me in the ordnance and wounded train on
the retreat, and was in my service anterior and has been ever
since, a seat with the driver. The two Generals had each given
a good right arm as contribution to their cause and convictions,
and I was rather shaky in the "underpinnings," owing to a return
ten-pound compliment, which makes pedestrianism inconvenient
in the rheumaticky stages of existence, but which is now
degraded to the base use of holding my library door open,
somewhat suggestive that of:

"Imperious Cæsar, dead, and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away."

The first place we went to, was what might be termed
"Howard's eyrie," which, with the aid of some half dozen flights
of steep stairs to reach it, gives perhaps the best view of the
town and surrounding country that can be had. To scale those
dizzy heights as he had done forty years and a day, preceding,
for the sinister purpose of watching our coming in, and
systematic spreadouts, was what I was called upon to do last
Wednesday morning a week ago. There was no excuse,
holdback or other get out, from that invitation, for it was a
special treat given in my honor, and had I not besides just made
a trip of five hundred miles to take (in) that pretty little borough?
And yet candor compels the admission, that I would have
vastly preferred being one of Pender's (another classmate)
immortals, making that ascent, a part of the time under glorious
old Isaac Trimble, to trusting a pair of three-score and ten legs
up that fearful flight. Was amply compensated, however, after
getting down, for apart from the historic information imparted
by my distinguished guide, it was one of the finest panoramic
views that I have ever seen.

On resuming the drive, General Howard remarked, now,
gentlemen, we will first go to where Daniel's brigade, the one to
which Green was attached, first put in an appearance on their
forced march from Heidlersburg that morning, and where it
suffered such tremendous loss at "the Deep Cut," a little later on.
Captain Zeigler, will you please direct the driver? This was
addressed to the fourth party of our makeup, a true gentleman,
as I take him to be, a zealous soldier on the side which he
deemed to be right, and perhaps, from close study and
systematic research, one of the most reliable local guides there
to be found. We were soon spinning along to that point over the
finest road that I have ever seen, finding out as progress was
made that all others in that vicinage were of kindred kind. The
United States is of a surety the king of road-builders in and about
national graveyards, since old Rome gave up the business on a
grander scale. Apropos, I had an old kinsman, once upon a time,
who was not unknown in his own State, or in all the States
surrounding. When the bill for an appropriation to what was
known as "The National Road," running from Cumberland to
Terre Haute, was passed or pending, with every assurance of
passage, Mr. Macon arose from his seat in the Senate, and
proceeded to preach "The Funeral of the Constitution." His text
being, that road building was extra constitutional, and that with
this little shovel full of dirt for beginning on that line, the road
was open to endless extension. Some there be still living who still
think that that old "Strict-Constructionist" was not such an
egregious ass as the new school of India-rubber expansionists
would have the world believe.

During the drive, numerous statues and mementoes to departed
valor were passed in transient review; some good, others
indifferent, but mostly belonging to neither category, but all
remindful, in reversal, of the old Roman "lex non scripta": "Build
no monuments to commemorate civil strife, or to remind
posterity of bloody intestine collision." A wise as well as a
valorous race was the outcrop of the Tiber she-wolf. Let not
the vanquished in later "internals" make wry face or call in
question the wisdom of reversal of that effete and antiquated
aphorism or dictum.

Crossing a little bridge, the carriage was stopped and the
inquiry made: "Sep, do you recognize the locality?" Of course I
did, for it was "Deep-Cut," where Daniel's brigade sustained
heavier loss in twenty minutes than did any other brigade during
the day; adding, "there's another spot that I recall, that grove on
the little eminence to our left, for it was there, while the
command was undergoing desultory shelling in a prone or
recumbent position, previous to the order to advance, that a
chance missile exploded almost under the nose of the Second
Battalion, and just behind where General Daniel and I were
holding our horses. It was, perhaps, the most disastrous single
shot fired during the war. Thirteen men were killed or wounded
by that detonation." To that came reply, that won't do, old
fellow, for in such a battle (naming it) you all sent us it's
companion piece, which killed and disabled twenty-nine of ours.
"By the way, you recollect my brigadier, June Daniel, whom
many think was hardly second to any one that his State has sent
forth?" "Yes," was the reply, I recall him, but had lost sight of identity."

Here, Sep., is where our "mutual friend, General
Huidekoper," then Colonel of the 150th Pennsylvania, was
wounded, although winning promotion thereby. "There is where
Archer's little brigade, having got beyond support and too far in
our domain, was taken in. Off to our left there is where Gordon
entered the field." And so in desultory talk pertinent to the
occasion, we drove on towards the National Cemetery, but did
not then enter. Howard has, as all true soldiers and the world at
large has, a most exalted opinion of General Lee, both as a
soldier and a man, although hardly disposed to concede with
Wolseley, Henderson and other world recognized military critics
of recent date, that his name is entitled to a place on the roster
of the five greatest captains of authentic history. "Perhaps," he
continued, "you are not aware of the reason why we did not
intercept your retreat between this and the Potomac, as all
judges say ought to have been done, and thus and then end the
war."

Why wasn't it done? Well, here's the reason: General
...... had the ear and confidence of Meade to a degree that

none other had. He also had a blind admiration and confidence
in Lee, as man and soldier, not surpassed by any in his
great army. When the question of pursuit was under
discussion during the night of the third day, and we were
almost a unit in favor of it, with eye to interception before the
river could be reached, the commander, of course, being
noncommittal until a full expression was reached, then General
...... interposed: "Do I understand you to say, General
Meade, that you have reliable information that General Lee
has reported to his government, that whilst his loss has been
fearful he is still in condition to repulse assault, come from
what quarter it may? Then, my counsel is, let him severely
alone, for I know the man, and know that he would not
prevaricate even at this critical juncture to save his life, or the
cause of his espousal, which he values far more highly."
The point was carried, and we didn't try to cut off the
retreat. Was ever higher compliment paid to the integrity of
man, by either friend or foeman?

On reaching the most observant or observable point on
Cemetery Hill, which proved to be a veritable cemetery to the
Confederates and their cause in the outcome of the most heroic
onslaught in history, assumptively claimed by one State as a
close monopoly, to the exclusion or ignoring of another that kept
step on that occasion, or to be entirely accurate, showed pace
to all others, we alighted to have mapped out the historic or the
possibilic. That point over yonder (designating it) is where
General Lee stood during the assault. There is where Sickles
was in line when ordered to fall back, which order he deferred
obeying until he could communicate with Meade. That big iron
book is the extreme point that your advance reached - "Little
Round Top" - which was confessedly the key to the situation;
that little hillock to the left, which we will put off attacking until
after dinner, or until tomorrow, as General H. and I have
functions to discharge this afternoon in connection with an
unveiling. On the way back to town remark was made on the
large iron tablets, which denote the positions held by different
Confederate commands at various stages. As indicators of
position, I expressed my preference for these to the legion of

bronze warriors who stood mute and unresponsive sentinels on
every hand, and Howard said, so did he.

These are apparently about six or eight feet square, with
raised letters in same metal, giving name of brigade and
regimental conformation of it at particular juncture. For the
idea and other important data, from the Southern standpoint
Major W. M. Robbins, of our State, and the Southern
representative on the Battlefield Commission, is chiefly entitled
to the credit.

The drive back to dinner was along "Confederate Avenue,"
in front of which Colonel Alexander planted his guns, "and most
judiciously planted they were," added Howard. By the way, was
query, how many guns were there altogether in that terrific
duel, the like of which the world has never heard? "To the best
of my calculation," was the reply, "you all had 225, and I think
we had about 100 more." Lying in a field hospital, a mile or so
to the rear, my estimate was that there were five or six reports
to the second. That would be about 300 to the minute, and
20,000 to the hour. Luckily for both sides, they were nothing
like as destructive as the two we were telling about. After
dinner we drove out to the unveiling of John Burns' statue, one
of the best, by the way, judged artistically, that I casually took
in, just finished by his State to an old burgher who insisted on
achieving fame by being killed the first day "in resisting the
insolent invader," according to one of the speakers. The thought
obtruded on one of his auditors of a few score hecatombs of
patriot heroes, or rather hundreds, who died across the river
yonder to like purpose and intent, who for monumental shaft or
storied urn had to be content with a soldier's grave for "resisting
the insolent invader." Much depends, quoth the lion in the fable,
on which side makes the statue.

In the early part of that night, whilst sitting in front of the
hotel, General Howard came up and said that Aleck Webb was
up at his hotel, and expressed a desire to see me, but was
unable to walk so far, and requested that I would go up and see
him. The preliminaries of our interview are already inserted.
We three old boys continued our talk until nearly midnight with
a crowd of interested listeners

standing around. We talked of old friends of half a century
bygone, many of whom had made historic names in the interim.
Webb and Jimmy Whistler, who has since died, the recognized
artist of the world, were recognized contestants for first place in
old Bob Weir's class of drawing. Naturally there was no love
lost between them, for one football was too small for two
Alexanders. I told of Jimmy's room and mine being opposite and
that when he was not immersed in a novel, as was usually the
case when not cartooning it, he was interrupting the serious
studies of Black and Green with novelistic recitals of the Court
of the Romanoffs, where his boyhood was largely spent, his
father being one of the pet American engineers of that day
whom the Czar had drawn around him. His neighbors thought
that "the little Billee of Trilby" could grind out romance when
not reading it, dear, fascinating little fellow that he was. "Make
him tell you, Webb, two pretty little stories that he gave me
to-day about General Lee and my dear old friend, Archy Gracie,
which I am going to introduce in my address in Texas next
week." Of course insistence led to violations of rule laid down
by him of Avon, never to repeat. Here are the two stories, such
as they are:

One day in ranks, Gracie, who was my file follower, kept
stepping on my heels, regardless of protest. Finally, my
patience, like Mr. Acres' courage had all oozed out, not at the
tips of my fingers but the tips of my toes, and I promised him a
licking as soon as ranks were broken, which I proceeded to
administer con amore. In the midst of the fun old P. de Janon
had to rush up and separate us, demanding my name, which I
declined to give, walking off to the barracks. Gracie gave his,
but, like the true gentleman that he was, refused to give mine,
remarking in emphatic tone that he was no informer. Poor
fellow, he got eight extra tours of guard duty for fighting on
parade ground, whilst I, for the time, went scot free, but only
until the superintendent, Col. R. E. Lee, got to his office the
next morning, when I too put in an appearance. "Colonel," was
the opening remark, "Mr. Gracie was reported for fighting on
the parade yesterday, whilst the man he was fighting goes
unreported." "Well, sir?"

"Colonel, isn't it a hard case that after getting the worst of the
fight he should have to undergo all of the penalty, whilst the
other fellow escapes altogether?" "Well, sir; I presume that
you are the 'other fellow.'" "Yes, sir, I am, and whatever
punishment is meted out to Mr. Gracie I insist upon the same
for myself." With that sweet, benignant smile of his, which,
once seen, could nover be forgotten, he replied, "No, sir, neither
of you will suffer for this offence. Try and live together in
peace and harmony hereafter." And we did, thanks to the
judicious peacemaker, who interviewed "the other fellow" right
afterwards.

"That's a good one, Sep, but old Archy was not to blame for
making free with your heels, for you know he was knock-kneed.
Now for the other." "Well, here it is, by well
authenticated report:

"During the last days at Petersburg, when General Grant
was getting to be over affectionate in his hug on 'Marse
Robert,' news reached the old man that something out of
routine was going on in front of Gracie's line. Thereupon he
mounted'Traveller" to do a little scouting on his own hook.
Hitching 'Traveller' en perdu, for fear of his getting hurt, with
field glass in hand, he climbed the parapet and began his
observations and mental notes, whilst the supplication arose all
up and down the line: 'Come down, General Lee, for God
Almighty's sake come down'; for well they knew what such
exposure to the sharpshooters beyond implied. Deaf to their
importunities, he remained there, poised, with glass to his eye,
until the Brigadier brought him down. Placing himself
between the great man and the sharpshooters, he stood with
callous mien and folded arms as the order came quick and
sharp, 'Get down, General Gracie, get down.' To which came
the saucy reply, 'After you, General Lee.' They came down
together. Heroic man, he was only anticipating his hero-fate a
few brief days before it came."

As Webb was engaged on State work, it was a source of
regret all around that he couldn't be with us in our drive the
next day. I hear that he is now at the head of the largest
educational institution in New York City, Columia College

alone excepted. His father was the great journalist, Gen. J.
Watson Webb.

Passing over much of the ground traversed yesterday, but
more deliberately for more careful inspection, we came at last
to the base of "Little Round Top," where, alighting, we proceed
upward on foot. Just below and to the right, my attention was
called to a field of immense boulders extending some distance
each way. "Say, Sep, don't you think you all would have a rough
trip over that in an assault, even if there had been no field
pieces above?" I should say so. "Well, we had to get a battery
over it and up there to intercept your expected arrival, a battle
of Cyclops, truly. Come up here to the summit, and see the spot
where our dear old classmate, Steve Weed, who was in
command, was done for, and where Lieutenant Hazlitt, in
command of the battery, was struck dead whilst stooping over
him to receive his dying orders." Such was the tenor of
conversation and observation during the two days' drive. The
most interesting and artistic memento was the beautiful
monument, "To Peace," near the entrance to the cemetery,
which is the crowning jewel to art and sentiment in that dread
Necropolis. Next to it, in merit, are the equestrian statues to
Hancock and Meade, and the standing one to Warren, at least
so they struck me. Such is a brief glimpse of brief revisit to that
greatest of all battlefields. It is not intended to be purely
descriptive. The guide books do that.

Regretting inability to stay longer, and especially to hear
Howard's speech that afternoon, which reads the best on the
other side that I have ever seen, I took the 4 p. m. train for
home, where I arrived two days later. When we took the
wounded and ordnance train forty years ago, it took about
twenty-two months to make the trip, as we were intercepted by
train wreckers, who wouldn't let us keep on.

Yours truly,

WHARTON J.
GREEN.

Ladies of the U. D. C., I thank you
for being permitted to lay
my little sprig of immortelle on the bier of this transcendant
woman. It was my proud privilege to have known her, and her
immortal husband, through more than half a century, and to
have loved and honored them both throughout that protracted
acquaintance. A better idea of my appreciation of their great
merit can best be given by a brief recital of that acquaintance,
illustrated by a few homely incidents and recollections,
supplemented by an article that appeared yesterday in the
Observer, and which is now given:

Colonel Green and
the Late Mrs. Davis.

DEAR SIR: -
I send you herewith my contribution to the
long list of telegrams of condolence, which are being published
on the occasion of Mrs. Davis' obsequies. Sure I am that
none that has gone forward is more genuine in heartfelt
sympathy, for it was my proud privilege to know and love, and,
as I flatter myself, to have been loved by her and her immortal
husband for over half a century, as numerous letters,
mementoes and keepsakes abundantly attest; and I hesitate not
to say that, taken together, they were the most extraordinary
married couple, intellectually and in other exalted attributes, that
it has been my blessed prerogative to have
known. Blessed are we amongst the short-lived nations of the
earth, or the long-lived either, to have had our national
autonomy illustrated by such an official head in connubio.
Aurelius, worthiest of monarchs that the world has known, was
mated to Faustina, but this was a perfect couple in all regards.

Yours sincerely,

W. J. GREEN.

Please accept our heartfelt sympathy, part of which is
retained for ourselves, for she was my honored friend through
many years, as was your glorious father through half a century
to the end.

WHARTON J. GREEN.

My acquaintance with her began in 1853 or 1854, whilst Mr.
Davis was Secretary of War in President Pierce's Cabinet, and
has continued ever since. That with her illustrious husband, some
nine or ten years anterior, during his first term in Congress,
whilst I, a lad in my teens, was left under his quasi supervisory
control at the same boarding house. During his continuance in
that cabinet, confessedly the strongest that the government has
ever known, as, after Mr. Calhoun, he was the ablest head of
the war office, she shone resplendent as the head and front of
cultured and refined Washington society. And so she did too in
that of the other capital, as first lady in the land, when I took tea
at the Confederate White House in the closing days of the great
upheaval, if "Yupon" could be called Bohea, or Okra seed
Mocha. But be it what it might, right sure I am that Madame de
Maintenon never decanted her costly beverages to the Grande
Monarque and his satiated Court with more superb grace than
did this inborn born queen her homely substitutes, born of
necessity, to struggling and starving patriots. And so it was at
beautiful "Beauvoir," when forced to dispense a liberal
hospitality, ill suited to their meagre means. In very truth she
would have shone resplendent in any circle and under all
circumstances. Culture and refinement was her inborn nature, as
it was her mated lord's, and ever apparent. Again, I repeat, my
friends, let us be thankful that we had such representatives as
these and kindred spirits to embellish the most glorious cause
that ever enlisted the prowess of man, even if lost. And what
shall I say of their peerless daughter, our Winnie, who wears the
proudest title that woman ever bore, save one? Here is what I
said to her mother during one of our morning drives along the
coast: "Madam, you ought to be a proud woman, with such a

husband and such a daughter. I wish that I was the father of
a son of suitable age, with all of the reputed perfections of
Crichton and Bayard combined, that I might express him
down here as a candidate for your son-in-law." She was
pleased to say that she would like the alliance.

Shortly after the close of the war, whilst our immortal
Chieftain was undergoing all the tortures that could be
devised by that brace of petty, pompous tyrants, Stanton and
Miles, in a damp, dank, loathsome dungeon, I chanced to be at
the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans when she arrived and
took rooms for herself and little ones at the St. James Hotel.
The term brace, which imports a pair, was employed. Respect
for a certain high office, which he then filled by the accidency
of murder, and regard for a noble State, which enjoyed the
equivocal honor of his nativity, deters completing the
triumvirate of infamy by giving his name, but who, holding the
restraining power, was to say the least acquiescent and
permissory to the brutality of the others. It was at this juncture
that, naturally assuming she was wanting for the comforts of
life, I requested her nephew, General Joe Davis, to wait on her
at once and place my purse unreservedly at her disposal. He
brought courteous reply, and over ample thanks, but adding that
she hoped that with the strictest economy she trusted to be able
to weather the storm, but continuing, tell the dear fellow that, if
at any time hereafter I lack for bread, I'll know where to make
a call. She forgot to do it.

Speech of Hon. Wharton J. Green, of North Carolina, in the
House of Representatives, Monday, April 21, 1884.

The House having under consideration the motion of Mr. BEACH, to
suspend the rules and adopt the resolution, submitted by the Select
Committee on the Public Health, regarding the adulteration of food and
Drugs -

MR. GREEN said:

MR. SPEAKER: It is a political axiom that the
obligations of government and governed are correlative
or reciprocal, protection being the duty of the first;
support of the last.

Protection is the end and aim of all government, be it patriarchal,
monarchical, aristocratic, or democratic; be it absolute or
constitutional. For that end primarily is all government devised.
Against foreign foe and domestic force, against invasion from
without and mob violence within, against open assault and
covert design; to that extent at least will all concede that the
government is bound to the governed. In return therefor the
protected class, the mass, the people, yield obedience and
support; in war their personal prowress to resist aggression, in
peace and war the requisite percentage of their goods and
chattels or yearly accretions, in one way or another, to maintain
the organism so established. Admit the predicate, and none dare
gainsay it, and the question naturally arises, where do the
protective functions of Government cease? Are these
exhausted when armed invading columns are beaten back, or
mobs dispersed, or murderers, ravishers, burglars, house-
burners, and the like caught and punished? These undoubtedly
are the most palpable and glaring duties of the agent or factor
known as the Government. The right of demand, however,
ceases not here. Immunity from the depredations of law-breakers
of every sort and designation is at least their implied
right by terms of "original compact."

I purpose to push the claim advanced to its legitimate
conclusion and to arraign the counterfeiters and adulterators of
meat, drink, and medicine as one of the most criminal of the
criminal classes, and hence meet and fitting one for the eye of
the law and the heavy hand of the law. If the proposition is, as I
maintain, self-evident, then I repeat the people have the right to
demand protection against their nefarious practices, covert,
cowardly, and false, no less than from predatory bands on land
or sea, against bandit or pirate.

Does not well authenticated suspicion, almost tantamount to
proof, if circumstantial evidence is ever proof, justify the
sweeping allegation which will follow? If not, and I fail to
make it so appear, then set me down as slanderer and the
objects of my anathemas as spotless lambs most unjustly and
unrighteously arraigned.

Now for the premise of what I propose to prove under

penalty to the extent of which it is here susceptible of proof. If
concurrent testimony and widespread accusation through the
public prints be not the offspring of pure diabolism; if chemical
analysis be not a snare; and if dire effects traceable to sinister
causes be not a delusion, I charge and maintain that the whole
field of dietetics and medicinals, of articles that we daily eat and
drink and take as doctor's stuff, teems with adulteration,
noxious or innoxious as the case may be, but hurtful as a rule.

Mr. Speaker, if this be so, it surely appertains to us to inquire
into the evil and remedy to devise. If, in spite of universal
attaint, it be not so, it is due to the manufacturer, compounder,
and consumer alike that the negative be authoritatively
established.

The unfortunate whelp that has the cry of "mad dog" raised
at his heels might as well be dead; and he who is bitten by such
a one had better be, even though the poor cur be innocent of the
charge. Abstract justice would enjoin that hydrophobia be
established or disproved for the mutual benefit of dog and man
alike. A like regard for justice would enjoin that his brother cur
of our conformation and purveyor of our diet, who is pointed at
as poisoner, should have like opportunity to establish
innocence. It is your right, Mr. Speaker, and mine, as his alleged
victims, that he be required to do it.

Yes, sir; metaphor aside, if cause there be for this wholesale
arraignment, and cause for one I think there be, it is your right
and mine, and that of every man who voted for and against us, to
have the thing inquired into. If the charge be established against
manufacturer or compounder of killing off innocent people by
thousands and tens of thousands by slow process and
homeophathic doses, wherein has he the advantage over his
brother scoundrel, who prefers active agencies and larger
measure to remove some hated rival or ambitious foe, as did the
Borgias and others of the vile accursed class, through the
medium of Belladonna, of arsenic, or of ratsbane?

For one, I hold the last less culpable. They killed by units,
these by thousands. Better, a thousand times better,

the allopathic dose administered by a Madame
Brinvilliers, to the graduated modicums of the abominable
drugs which enter into our daily food, and protract the life in
misery of the victims by thousands, as said, through one or two
or twenty years as may be.

We will probably be met at the threshold of
investigation by hackneyed cry of "sumptuary laws." Sir, no
one holds in utter detestation laws of the class named more
than I. But why, I demand, should those against slow insidious
poisoning be so classed more than the others, aimed against the
deadly drugs when give for sinister and specific object?

Yes, sir; I go further and maintain that it is within our
province to prevent the admixture of spurious, base, or bad
ingredients in our daily food, and have it palmed off upon an
unsuspecting world as a better article even if harmless in effect.
If it is our right, then when poison enters it follows, as the night
the day, it is our duty. Sir, the vile practice of adulteration
engendered by sordid greed of gain is, I repeat, now so universal
and widespread that it is the merest chance, be your grocer who
he may, that you can obtain any genuine edible article, if diabolic
science will permit it to be counterfeited to advantage. Sugar,
flour, sirups, baking-powders, pepper, spices, brandy, whisky,
vinegar, wines, teas, pickles, preserves, ground coffee, canned
goods, mustard, lard, butter, table oil, curry, and a host of other
articles of every-day life too numerous to mention, all fall to a
considerable extent under my sweeping accusation and desired
interdict. We buy them, knowing that they are probably
spurious.

But what alternative have we except to restrict ourselves to
old-fashioned hog and hominy of our own raising, or imitate that
would-be heroic idiot, Dr. Tanner. Surely, Mr. Speaker, there
must be some adequate remedy for this crying evil, this
monstrous crime. That remedy, I repeat it, is ours to devise. If
we are encountered by constitutional objection, then give us an
amendment to that India-rubber document that will compass the
aim designed. The Constitution of the land ought to be able to
protect the physical constitutions of its citizens against the
machinations of demons disguised

as men. State enactments are utterly inadequate to
suppress the evil. We have laws, and stringent ones they are,
imposing suitable and adequate penalties upon
counterfeiters of the coin and currency of the country. Are
there any against counterfeiting articles of diet, drink, and
medicine? If so, sir, the brazen effrontery with which they are
disregarded proves their total inadequacy. In Heaven's name,
why are not the two at least of parity?

Can any hold that the last is crime of minor grade? Who will
say that he who stamps and passes off little bits of baser metal
than the standard bullion to put into your pockets is guilty of
greater wrong than he who prepares and sells you base and
counterfeit compounds, not to say deadly, to put into your
stomach? Possibly the reason for imposing penalties in the one
case and neglect to do so in the other is that our ancestors
could not realize that human cupidity could prompt such
depravity as trifling with the health, well-being, and very
existence of myriads of their fellow-men.

Just as the Romans had no special punishment for parricide.
Just as our old English progenitors had no special penalty for
that most cowardly and repulsive of all known crimes, the
taking of life by deadly drugs, until in a very late reign (one of
the last Henrys, I believe) the crime was proven and special
penalty thenceforth imposed to "fit that vile Italian crime which
hath lately entered into these realms." The culprit was to be
boiled to death in oil. Meet punishment that and fitting for all the
vile, accursed class, whether the agency employed be the
famous, or, rather, infamous, "Aqua Tofana," or "Elixir of St.
Nicholas," which could be gauged to do its hellish work in a day,
a week, a month, or a year, or the slower poisons of our day,
which enter into our daily food and permits its millions of
victims to live out nearly their allotted span, but with impaired
constitutions, both mental and physical, for years before their
end.

Mr. Speaker, were the adulterated substance sold entirely
harmless but of inferior merit or virtue to that which it purports
to be, it would still be a fraud, and should as such be punished.
But when baleful and deadly ingredients enter

into the composition, capital felony should be its status in the list
of crimes, and the oil cauldron the bath in which the vile
miscreant, be he manufacturer, manipulator, or expert, should
be required to lave his sordid soul.

If any one within the compass of my voice doubts the extent
and enormity of the evil complained of let him go to any first-
class grocery in this town, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York,
or Boston, and attempt to make out a bill of goods with the
guarantee of purity attached. Though he stand with golden
ducats or silver dollars in his hand to settle upon compliance, I
prophesy that the bill will not be filled without abatement of
proviso. If these middle-men, or rather first purchasers, honest
as a class as I concede them to be, and as a class bitterly
opposed to the necessity which exists of selling the
counterfeit commodities, will not sign the "bill of health required,
is it not prima facie evidence that their cargo is taint and not
entitled to pratique; in other words, that it is an unwholesome
and sickly lot?

Mr. Speaker, I had occasion some two years ago to lay in a
supply of commissary stores for those in my employ, and told
my grocer in a neighboring city I desired a pure article of sirup.
His reply was, "You can not get it here, nor do I believe you can
in or out of the city;" and so with numbers of other articles.
When the item of sugar on my list was reached he was equally
honest and candid. "We can sell you a pure article of sugar,"
quoth he, "provided you take the granulated. Nothing else will
we guarantee." "And why the granulated?" The reply was pert
and to the point: "Because refiners and doctorers have not yet
been able to counterfeit it to paying profit."

This, Mr. Speaker, is a sample of the coloquy on that
occasion. Did the vendor fall in my esteem or would he have
done so in yours on account of the admissions made? No,
sir; his candor stamped him an honest man; but it placed the
brand of knave, swindler, and scoundrel on him front whom he
purchased, assuming that he bought at the fountainhead or of
him who made, compounded, or prepared the noxious stuffs.
Probably every gentleman on this floor knows what steatite
or soapstone is. If not, I will state that it is a

soft, calcareous, easily cut rock, but probably surpassing any
other in weight and density. Presumptively therefore not the
most digestible article of diet known.

True, as we are told, it is eaten by the natives of the Senegal,
the Oronoco, and New Caledonia. But, I opine, sir, that it is
under the spur of dire necessity and not from choice, and that
these poor creatures, but one degree above the ape or the
Digger Indian, would much prefer that his muffins, biscuits, or
doughnuts had for basis rye, wheat, corn, or buckwheat, or
even the favorite cereal of "Old Caledonia," which, according to
old Sam Johnson, "is eaten in England by horses and in Scotland
by men." Now, sir, what would be your inference, if told by the
proprietor of one of these saponaceous quarries, as I have
been, that he finds a ready sale for all the "soapstone flour" that
he can grind? And who are your customers? Chiefly
commercial millers and sugar refiners.

Mine, sir, was that the information tallied with what I had
previously seen in print, that the vile stuff enters largely into our
tea, coffee, toddy, sweetmeats, and daily bread. Sir, it behooves
those who hear to ponder well. Steatite may be an excellent
lining for stoves. I doubt its coequal fitness for stomachs. "Hot
biscuit for breakfast," "light bread for supper" was wont to
gladden my heart in younger days, for in the house of an
honored uncle who raised me "corn bread" as a rule was the
staple staff of life.

Think you that biscuit for breakfast or light bread for supper
(Heaven save the mark, how could it have been made light?)
would have been as palatable as ash cake or johnny if one of
the descendants of old Job's comforters had kindly volunteered
the information that they were to be made out of nice white
soapstone flour instead of the glorious golden grain grown on
the broad acres around me?

Will men, grown-up men, lawmakers, be less alive to their
corporeal well-being and that of those who made them such
and confidingly intrusted their well-being into their hands? In
licensing this monstrous wrong, as we permissively do, wherein
have we the advantage of the toad as regards the reasoning
faculty? I have been told that that creature,

esthetically, intellectually, and as a mold of form one of
the very lowest of the low order of batrachia, will eat his fill of
leaden shot, when thrown to him one by one, until by
excess of artificial weight he is utterly unable to move.

"Miserable creature!" was my involuntary
exclamation, "how does he manage to digest them?" "Oh,"
replied my juvenile informant, "he doesn't disgust 'em at all.
We takes him by the left hind leg and holds him up, and
all of the shot runs out of his mouth."

Blessed batrachian, that can eat even lead with
impunity, and disgorge the overweight through the
co-operative agency of a hoodlum, a scientist, or other
experimentalist.

Miserable, besotted bipeds, who will persist in breaking
bread, and eating it, too, knowing full well that it is of the
leaden sort, and that they have no kind, considerate hoodlum
to relieve them by the left-hind-leg process.

In the late war, Mr. Speaker, the men who wore the
soapstone-color coat did bake and break and eat the bread
whereof I speak, a simple admixture of flour and water, and
ofttimes not half cooked at that. But, thanks to short rations,
long marches, hard work, and easy conscience they managed to
worry it through, and would have done it in my opinion though
50 per cent. of their scant handful of flour had been soapstone,
sawdust, or brick-dust either.

But, sir, this should not embolden us to hope for like
immunity. The digestive organism of the ostrich, the alligator,
the Confederate soldier, and the anaconda is an exclusive
prerogative, a close monoply, and does not appertain to all the
sons of Adam alike. Give us, then, a little more starch and less
steatite, more gluten and less glucose or crude glass.

Our New England friends, Mr. Speaker, have the word
"sharp," somewhat analogous to our Southern one of "smart," to
qualify the possessor of "ways that are dark" and means that
are doubtful, which, though not exactly beyond the pale of the
law, are nevertheless beyond that attaching to the standard of a
well-recognized morality. He who sells you sanded sugar,
glucose sirup for the genuine article, soapstone or plaster-of-
paris flour, cocoanut-shell black pepper, or red-lead cayenne is
doubtless "sharp," "cute," "smart," and is
bound to turn his penny (honest or otherwise is immaterial to
him); but, sir, he is none the less a cold-blooded, calculating
knave and scoundrel, and should be made amenable to the law.
"Tell me not of the patriotism of such," exclaimed the
impassioned Burke, in speaking of a far more honorable class,
"his desk is his altar, his ledger is his Bible, and his gold is his
god."

Mr. Speaker, under the operation of our delectable revenue
laws, as at present enforced, there are grievous penalties
attaching to illicit distillation, as many of the poor mountaineers
in my poor State know full well to their cost. Now, sir, I opine
that if the restrictions on distillation, including tax on the
legitimate article and pains and penalties on the illicit or
"moonshine," were removed altogether, and these makers of a
pure article of whisky and brandy left as free as their fathers
were in that regard, and the same punishments doubled or
quadrupled meted out to the compounders of the poisonous
stuffs engendered by the tricks of chemistry, the cause of
morality and the sanitary cause, not to say the cause of liberty
and sobriety, would be materially subserved thereby.

Let me give you an instance in proof. When a younger man
than I am today by many years I passed some weeks in Bonnie
Scotland. I had heard before getting there that the breechless
sons of the Lothians were not averse to a wee drop of "rock
and rye," and not overparticular if the rock was left out, and
faith, Mr. Speaker, observations convinced me that they had
not been slandered. Why, sir, one-half of the average potations,
judging from what I saw, and assuming that it was a national
average, would in this country, in a single year, more than
double the victims of drink mania and cram to repletion our
inebriate asylums. And yet no such dire effect was visible
there; mania a potu, like spinal meningitis, was literally
unknown.

Expressing my surprise to a friend in Edinburgh at the
marked difference in capacity of absorption between the
denizens of the two countries, I asked the cause. Sir, I was not
and am not satisfied with the explanation he vouchsafed. It
was, as recollected, that the volume of pyroligneous acid

evolved from peat smoke had a purifying effect upon the
liquid distilled. That may be science, but it is not sense. My
explanation is simply pure whisky. The Highlandmen of
Scotland in that day, like the highlandmen of North Carolina
in ours, were not up to the tricks and devices of devilish
science. They made an honest article of whisky, drank it, and
lived out their allotted span a brave, hardy, simple race on their
bleak free mountain-sides.

Like cause would produce like effect in our own midst.
Now, Mr. Speaker, coming back to our mutton, compel the
nefarious manufacturer or compounder to drink his own vile
decoctions with a slight additional infusion of fusil oil, to be
administered by the public executioner, and bury his accursed
secret with him, and, mark the prediction, delirium tremens and
other resulting effects, such as wife-beating and kindred
brutality, misery, and murder, will very materially diminish as
the quality improves.

What is true of distilled spirits is none the less so of beer and
other malt liquors, wines, and cordials; for as enormous as the
profits are in both cases, they are not sufficient to satisfy these
rapacious ghouls. The beer-maker is as little content with those
resulting from accredited hops as the basis as is the whisky or
brandy maker with him from honest rye, corn, wheat, or fruits.
It is said that the highest encomium that an Irishman can pay
his poteen when, with the characteristic hospitality of his race,
he sets it before his guest, is the trite remark: "The divil a penny
of rivenue has it paid the Queen."

But he who clinks canakins with honest Pat has the
satisfaction of feeling that while Her Majesty's money-bags
may thereby weigh less than they ought nevertheless the devil
a drop of vile chemicals or doctor's stuff has entered into its
composition. So, believing, Mr. Speaker, if I were snake-bitten
in blessed St. Patrick's land I would vastly prefer the only
recognized antidote on such occasions (and efficacious I know
it to be by personal experience in a Robeson County swamp) to
be of the unpaid-tax quality to the so-called honest tax-paid
stuff stretched out by the infusion of strychnine and other
deadly drugs. Let casuists determine which is the

most meretricious, the man who makes the first or the
government which permits the last to be made.

It is safe to assume, Mr. Speaker, that were the question
put to the leading medical men of the country a large majority
of them would decide that the alarming increase of late years
in nervous, cerebral, and kidney diseases is directly traceable
to the cause assigned, namely, adulterated drinks of all kinds,
including vinous, malt and distilled. Is not insanity fearfully on
the increase, as evidenced by the overcrowded bedlams of
the land and the mania for self-destruction? Then seek for
reason why, and find it, too, no less in poisoned beverage
than in the growing passion for wild speculation.

In view of the statements made and facts alleged, all of
which are susceptible of proof, I ask, and ask with due
deliberation, might not the philanthropist better subserve the
cause of humanity by directing the batteries of his denunciation
from alcoholic drinks per se to the adulteration of them; by
advocating purity instead of prohibition?

I have thus, Mr. Speaker, briefly adverted to abuses falling
under the general head of meat and drink adulteration. The
witnesses upon whom it is relied to sustain allegation will
appear in appendix.

But, sir, the field is too extensive, proofs too voluminous, if
proof be needed where criminality stands confessed, to permit
my going into further detail under this head of my subject.
But I were derelict to my subject, my constituents, and myself
did I close without some allusion to like vicious practice in the
make-up of medicine; for, sir, human depravity, with utter
disregard of human life, has even dared invade the sacred
precincts of the pharmacopoeia, to lift the tops of the mystic
jars on shelves arranged, and to infuse base substance in
their portentous contents, where oft the difference of a
feather's weight may involve the mortal life of immortal
men. Medical skill is impotent to act and powerless to
grapple with fell disease in critical juncture, because by
base admixture with medicinals it is at loss to know what
measure to prescribe to compass end desired.

I broadly, boldly make the charge and challenge the
refutal of investigation. A distinguished physician told me

some years since, in a neighboring city, that probably more
deaths resulted directly and indirectly from that source than
would from disease if left to itself; and that he made it an
inflexible rule never to prescribe medicines unless he was
well acquainted with the commercial and moral character of
the druggist who was to supply them. If such is the state of the
case in a great city, what chance is there of obtaining pure
drugs in village shops and country stores?

Mr. Speaker, this branch of my subject is certainly one
demanding most instant and efficacious remedy at our hands.
Of all men in the world the chemist and wholesale druggist has
least occasion and excuse for tampering with his wares. His
profits are enormous when confined to legitimate channels.

I do not propose, Mr. Speaker, to take down and look into
each separate jar on the shelves of the Constitution amender;
am not sufficiently deep in science for that; but I do intend to
look into one - and judge the rest by inference.

I see before me "sulphate of quinia." That means in our
vernacular "quinine," qui-nine, or quin-in, as folks prefer to call
it. "Jesuit's bark" is the staple from which it is compounded, and
the introduction of which to the European world entitles the
Society of Loyola to the everlasting gratitude of a sinful and
suffering world. It is today, in the world's conception, almost as
indispensable an article to man's welfare as bread or meat or
drink. I have heard that out on the raging Wabash or in the
Arkansas bottom, where the musical mosquito delighteth to
hum and to make his home, where the ague shaketh the sons of
men, they would willingly swap, pound for ounce, blood for
Jesuit's bark in its etherealized state, known as quinine.

Now, sir, a short time back, a Democratic House of
Representatives, recognizing the indispensable necessity of this
light but costly white powder, erased it from the list of the
thousand or two other protected articles and put it on the free-
list, and the whole country arose and called that Congress
blessed. Quinine fell from five or six dollars an ounce to $1.50
nominally. But, sir, I opine the reduction in price is more
fictitious than real. The quinine of to-day is not as

a rule the quinine of former times. Then it was bitter -
deucedly bitter - and there was no horrid apprehension of
morphia or other deadly drug left in the mind as afterclap. To-day
it is far different, for although not exactly a confection or
sweetmeat, it has nevertheless so far laid aside its acerbity as
to suggest the thought, a la Mrs. Toodles, what a convenient
thing a stomach-pump is to have in the house when one is
taking white powders.

Now, sir, I ask why the change in its taste, which is so
perceptible as to be the subject of general remark? Is it that the
bark of the cinchona tree is losing its natural properties, or is it
that less expensive barks and other substances are worked in
with it to increase bulk and weight, and thus make up for the
falling off in price?

It would be an interesting investigation if the question
were submitted to a special committee of medical
experts. The cinchona is doubtless to-day what it was when
Pizarro's followers first found it, and so is red oak or willow.

Almost every leading government in Europe has stringent
laws against adulteration. Of these England has perhaps the
most perfect and complete system, and yet it is only of
yesterday's growth. Less than thirty years ago Dr. John
Postgate, a country physician, seeing the abuses
perpetrated by adulterators of every class, took the matter in
hand and after years of persistent effort, beginning with only
one supporter in Parliament, Mr. Scholefield, and with all the
large manufacturers and dealers in Great Britain hounding and
denouncing him, succeeded at last in having his ideas
adopted as embodied in the adulteration acts of the last
decade.

As a public benefactor he will rank in the history of his
country as the peer of Jenner, Stevenson, Arkwright, and
Davy; for food adulteration is virtually wiped out so far as it
affects English palates and constitutions. But what
compounders are forbidden to sell at home they can readily
market abroad. For is it not obvious that as long as they are
debarred a home market by repressory edicts they will
naturally export their base counterfeits to our own more
tolerant shores? Eliminate the foreign supply of poisoned and
poisonous foods, and forbid the sale of "home manufactured"

stuffs of kindred class in the District of Columbia and where-
ever else the strong arm of the Federal Government will
reach, and a most important step in the work of their
eradication and extermination will have been accomplished.

Mr. Speaker, my remarks as originally prepared after a
careful investigation of the subject contemplated a broader
field of inquiry and ultimate repression than that embraced in
the bill under consideration. They were intended to sustain my
bill, or rather resolution, introduced early in the session,
authorizing the Committee of Public Health to inquire into the
truth or falsity of the alleged abuses in this regard, and to
suggest what legislation should be had for their eradication - a
simple inquiry into damning allegations, with an eye to a simple
recommendation of remedy. It received, I believe, the
unanimous approval of that honorable committee, and they and
I were alike at loss when, during my absence at the death-bed
of a loved and honored relative, it was killed by a majority of
one on the floor of this House. My unavoidable absence on that
occasion will be one of the regrets of my life.

In conclusion I now propose, Mr. Speaker, to introduce the
witnesses and to adduce the proofs upon which it is intended to
rely to sustain the sweeping allegations made. These will
appear in the form of appendix in the Record. If they seem to
any to take more space than is usually accorded in that diurnal
history of our doings to any abstract question let the importance
of the subject and the ignorance and indifference which prevail
regarding it stand me in justification and excuse. As bulky as it
will appear, it is not a tithe of what might be adduced from
these and other high authorities in support of the existence of
the evils charged and the necessity for remedial relief. Let us
hearken to their warning and give that relief to the fullest extent
of our constitutional powers. As transcendently important as I
believe it to be, I would not have this House go one step beyond
to accomplish the end in view under "the general welfare"
clause.

APPENDIX.

I.

Some thirty years ago the London Lancet, the leading
medical and surgical journal of the world, owing to the repeated
exposures of Dr. Postgate, determined to employ at its own
expense one of the best analytical chemists of the age to
investigate the subject. For that purpose Dr. Hassall, a man of
national reputation and fellow of a dozen learned societies, was
selected. He devoted several years to the work and collated his
researches in a large sized volume. His book constituted the
basis of subsequent Parliamentary investigation, which gives it
quasi-official character. From it will be found below copious
extracts bearing upon a few of the most glaring abuses:

During the course of the last six years the author has examined
minutely and scrupulously, microscopically and chemically, over 3,000
samples of the principal articles of consumption, as well as many drugs;
and as the one great result of this somewhat extended experience, he
affirms that some short time back there were few articles of consumption
the adulteration of which was practicable, and which, at the same time,
could be rendered profitable, which were not extensively subjected to
adulteration.

* * * * * * * *

Dr. Normandy, one of the highest authorities of the age, concludes his
evidence before the parliamentary committee with this remark:

"Adulteration is a widespread evil which has invaded every branch of
commerce; everything which can be mixed or adulterated or debased in
any way is debased."

* * * * * * * *

The subjoined table contains not only the names of the substances used
in adulteration possessing more or less injurious properties, but also the
names of the articles in which they have been discovered. It will be
perceived that the number of injurious substances thus employed is
very great.

Sulphate of iron .....

Redried tea, and in beer.

Sulphate of copper .....

Bread, rarely; annatto.

Cayenne .....

Gin, rum, ginger, and mustard.

Gamboge .....

Sugar confectionery.

Chromates of potash .....

Tea and snuff.

The three false Brunswick greens, being mixtures of the chromates
of lead and indigo, or Prussian blue.

Sugar confectionery.

Oxychlorides of copper or true Brunswick greens.

Sugar confectionery.

Orpiment or sulphuret of arsenicum.

Sugar confectionery.

Ferrocyanide of iron or Prussian blue.

Sugar confectionery.

Antwerp blue or Prussian blue and chalk.

Sugar confectionery.

Indigo .....

Sugar confectionery.

Ultramarine .....

Sugar confectionery.

Artificial ultramarine .....

Sugar confectionery.

Hydrated sulphate of lime, mineral white, or plaster of Paris.

Flour, bread, sugar confectionery.

Alum........

Bread and flour.

Sulphuric acid .....

Vinegar, gin.

Bronze powders or alloys of copper and zinc.

Sugar confectionery.

These
disclosures, be it recollected, were made nearly thirty
years ago, and when food-poisoning was but yet in its infancy.
It was long anterior to the day when tallow and suet supplanted
legitimate and normal butter by most abnormal and disgusting
process; or glucose, cane-sugar, or scores of other
improvements had been made upon the recognized time-honored
processes of our fathers. In this, as in other things, the
world has moved since then.

II.

Dr. Hassall concludes his general introduction on the subject
of food adulteration in the following pertinent and impressive
words:

Legislation on the subject is required -

First. For the protection of the public health. The evidence given before
the parliamentary committee on adulteration proves that the deadliest
poisons are daily resorted to for purposes of adulteration, to the
injury of the health and the destruction n of the lives of thousands. There
is scarcely a poisonous pigment known in these islands which are not
thus employed.

Second. For the protection of the revenue. This will be readily
acknowledged when it is known that nearly half the national revenue is
derived from taxes on food and beverages. It has already been shown
that not long since adulteration was rife, and it still exists to a large
extent in nearly all articles of consumption, both solid and fluid, and
including even those under the supervision of the excise.

Third. In the interests of the honest merchant and trader. The upright
trader is placed in a most trying and unfair position in consequence of
adulteration. He is exposed to the most ruinous and unscrupulous
competition; too often he is undersold, and his business thus taken from
him. It is therefore to the interest of the honest trader that effective
legislation should take place, and not only is it to his interest, but we
can state that it is his most anxious desire that adulteration should be
abolished. In advocating the suppression of adulteration we are, therefore,
advocating the rights and interests of all honorable traders.

Fourth. For the sake of the consumer. That the consumer is extensively
robbed through adulteration, sometimes of his health, but always of his
money, is unquestionable. It is, however, the poor man, the laborer and
the artisan, who is the most extensively defrauded; for occupied early and
late with his daily labor, often in debt with those with whom he deals,
he has no time or power to help himself in the matter, and if he had the
time he still would require the requisite knowledge. The subject of
adulteration, therefore, while it concerns all classes, is eminently a
poor man's question; the extent to which he is cheated through
adulteration is really enormous.

Fifth. On the ground of public morality. Adulteration involves deception,
dishonesty, fraud, and robbery, and since adulteration is so prevalent,
so equally must these vices prevail to the serious detriment of public
morality and to the injury of the character of the whole nation for
probity in the eves of the world. We repeat, then, that some prompt,
active, and efficient legislative interference is demanded for the sake
of public morality and the character of this country among the nations of
the world.

2. That chicory was present in thirty-one of the samples.

3. Roasted corn in twelve.

5. That in sixteen cases the adulteration consisted of chicory only.

6. That in the remaining fifteen samples the adulteration consisted of
chicory and either roasted corn, beans, or potatoes.

7. That in many instances the quantity of coffee present was very small;
while in others it formed not more than one-fifth, fourth, third, half,
and so on of the whole article.

We are satisfied that the gross aggregate of the adulterations detected
did not amount to less than one-third of the entire bulk of the quantity
purchased.

* * * * * * * *

Speaking of the articles used in the adulteration of tea, the author
says:

"The principal of these substances are Dutch pink, rose pink, logwood,
tumeric, carbonate of lime, carbonate of magnesia, steatite, soapstone or
silicate of magnesia, chromate of lead, the chromates of potash,
ferrocyanide of iron, indigo, carbonate of copper, acetate of copper,
arsenic of copper."

* * * * * * * *

Thus it has been shown that exhausted tea-leaves are sometimes made
up with gum, etc., and resold to the public as genuine black tea, and,
when artificially colored and glazed, even as green tea.

That the substances employed in the coloring are in many cases very much
more objectionable and injurious than those used by the Chinese, being
sometimes highly poisonous.

* * * * * * * *

Out of seventy-two samples of brown sugar, as procured at different
shops, subjected to examination, fragments of sugar-cane were present
in all but one. These were usually so small that they were visible only
by the aid of the microscope.

Sporules and filaments of fungus were present in nearly all the sugars.
The acari were present in sixty-nine of the samples, and in many in very
considerable quantities.

Grape sugar was detected in all the sugars.

Four of the sugars contained proportions of starch so considerable as
to lead to the inference that they were adulterated.

Eleven other samples of brown sugar, as imported from the East and West
Indies, furnished nearly similar results. Two only could be regarded as
pure and fit for human consumption.

* * * * * * * *

Concerning Bread. - We have already referred, to some extent, to the
adulteration of bread with water. Bread naturally contains a large
quantity of water, estimated at sixty-six parts in every one hundred and
fifty of bread, sixteen of these only being natural to the flour, but is
frequently made to contain greater amounts. One principal means by
which this is effected is by the addition of rice or rice-flour to bread;
this, swelling up, absorbs much more water than wheat flour. Potatoes
used in any quantity probably have, to some extent, the same effect. In
the introduction of rice, then, into bread there is a double evil: first,
a substance is put into the bread which does not possess nearly so much
nourishment as wheat flour; and, second, by its means a larger quantity
of another substance is absorbed by the bread, and which has no nourishing
properties whatever. While wheat flour seldom contains less and often
much more than 12 per cent of gluten, rice has only about 7 per cent of
that nutritious substance, and potatoes are equally deficient in gluten.

The public, then, in judging of the quality of bread by its color, by its
whiteness, commits a most serious mistake; there is little or no
connection between color and quality; in fact, very generally, the whitest
breads are the most adulterated. The public, therefore, should lose no
time in correcting its judgment on this point.

Again, the mistaken taste of the public for very white bread, which,
be it known, cannot be obtained even from the finest and best flour except
by the use of alum or some other substance similar in its operation,
tends to the serious injury of the bread in another way.

After proving that alum enters injuriously in almost all bought
bread, he adds:

Further, alum is very apt to disorder the stomach and to occasion
acidity and dyspepsia.

Vinegar. - The principal adulterations of vinegar are with water,
sulphuric acid, and burnt sugar, and sometimes with acid substances, as
chillies and grains of paradise, and also with pyroligneous or acetic
acids.

The water is added to increase the bulk, sulphuric acid and acid
substances to make it pungent, and burnt sugar to restore the color lost
by dilution.

Vinegar is not unfrequently contaminated with arsenic, this being
introduced through the sulphuric acid used in its adulteration.

A mixture of muriatic acid and soda has been used in bread, and I
have seen muriatic acid containing a very fearful quantity of arsenic.

The following evidence in regard to the use of corrosive sublimate was
given by Mr. Gray before the parliamentary committee:

"Corrosive sublimate has been used for years and years in some houses
and not a cask has gone out without a certain proportion of corrosive
sublimate."

"CHAIRMAN. Do you believe that corrosive sublimate was mixed with
the vinegar in injurious proportions?"

"I do, it was done to give strength to the vinegar. When the D. W.
and O. V. have been used the corrosive sublimate is put into it to give
it a tartness again in the mouth."

CHAIRMAN. "Are these technical expressions in the trade - O. V. for
Oil of vitriol, and D. W. for distilled water?"

"Just so. Corrosive sublimate is called 'the doctor.'"

White or distilled vinegar, as it is called, is usually made with water
and acetic acid, what is sold is rarely distilled at all.

* * * * * * *

That nineteen out of twenty of the vinegars submitted to analysis,
poor as they were, yet owed a portion of their acidity to sulphuric acid
the amount of which varied in the different samples from 38 to 252 in
the 1,000 grains, the largest quantity of this acid being detected in the
vinegars in which the red cabbages were pickled. That in the whole of
the sixteen different pickles analyzed for copper that poisonous metal
was discovered in various amounts.

On the adulterations of cayenne. - Of twenty-eight samples of cayenne
submitted to microscopic and chemical examination no less than twenty-four
were adulterated, and four only were genuine. Twenty-two contained mineral
coloring matter.

In thirteen eases this consisted of red lead, which was present in very

considerable quantities, while in the remaining seven samples it was some
red ferruginous earth, Venetian red, or red ocher. Vermillion or sulpheret
of mercury was present in one of this cayennes.

Six of the cayennes consisted of a mixture of ground rice, turmeric and
cayenne colored, with either red lead, vermillion, red, or ocher.

Six of the cayennes contained large quantities of salt, sometimes alone,
but mostly combined with rice and the red earths or red lead.

One of the samples was adulterated with a large quantity of the husk
of white mustard seed.

Lastly. Two were adulterated with rice, and were colored in addition,
the one with red lead, and the other with a red ferruginous earth. The
object of the use of red lead and other red coloring matters is two fold:
first, to conceal other adulterations, and second, to preserve the color
of the cayenne, as when exposed to the light for any time it usually loses
part of the bright red color which it at first possesses, and therefore
it becomes deteriorated in the eyes of the purchaser. The red lead, etc.,
added does not of course preserve the color of the cayenne, but simply
supplies the place of that which it loses in consequence of
exposure.

Salt is employed for the same purpose. This substance has a remarkable
effect in bringing out the color of the cayenne. It is, however, also
used to increase its weight.

The adulteration of cayenne with such substances as red lead and
mercury is doubtless highly prejudicial to health. It has been stated
that colic and parlysis have both been produced by the use of cayenne
containing red lead.

The salts of lead and mercury are characterized by the circumstance
that they are apt to accumulate in the system, and finally to produce
symptoms of a very serious nature. Thus no matter how small the quantity
of mercury or lead introduced each day, the system is sure in the end,
although it be slowly and insidiously, to be brought under the influence
of these poisons, and to become seriously affceted. The quantity of red
lead introduced into the system in adulterated cayenne is, however,
by no means inconsiderable.

III.

[From Chambers's Encyclopoedia.]

ADULTERATION.

The adulteration of food of almost every kind is unfortunately so
common a custom that our limited space will merely allow of our noticing
a few of the leading points in regard to it.

Wheat flour is not infrequently adulterated with one or more of the
following substances: flour of beans, Indian corn, rye, or rice,
potato-starch, alum, chalk, carbonate of magnesia, bone-dust, plaster-
of-paris sand, clay, etc. The organic matters - the inferior flours and
starch - do little or no serious harm. Most of the inorganic matters are
positively injurious, and of these, alum (one of the commonest
adulterations) is the worst. The beneficial action of wheat-flour on
the system is in part due to the large quantity of soluble phosphates
which it contains. When alum is added these phosphates uniting with the
alumina of the alum and forming an insoluble compound, the beneficial
effect of the soluble phosphates is thus lost.

Coffee, in its powdered form, is not merely largely adulterated with
chicory, but additionally with roasted grain, roots, acorns, saw-dust,

exhausted tan (termed croats), coffina (the seeds of a Turkish plant),
burnt sugar and (worst of all) baked horses' and bullocks' liver. In
the Quarterly Journal of the Chemical Society for April, 1856, there is
an excellent report by Messrs. Graham, Stenhouse, and Campbell on the
mode of detecting vegetable substances mixed with coffee. Even whole
roasted coffee is not safe from adulteration, a patent having been
actually taken out to mold chicory into the form of coffee-berries.

Cocoa and chocolate are adulterated with flour, potato-starch, sugar,
clarified mutton-suet, and various mineral substances, such as chalk,
plaster-of-paris, red earth, red ocher, and venetial earth, the last three
being used as coloring matter.

Vinegar is adulterated with water, sulphuric acid, and sometimes with
chillies, grains of paradise, and pyroligneous acid. It appears from
evidence taken before the parliamentary committee on adulterations that
arsenic and corrosive sublimate are no uncommon ingredients in vinegar.
In conection with vinegar we may place pickles. Dr. Hassall analyzed
sixteen different pickles for copper, and discovered that poisonous metal,
more or less, abundantly in all of them; "in three, in a very considerable
quantity; in one, in highly deleterious amount; and in two, in poisonous
amount."

Preserved fruits and vegetables, especially gooseberries, rhubarb, green
gages, and olives, are often also contaminated largely with copper. In
these eases the copper, if in considerable quantity, may be easily detected
by placing a piece of polished iron or steel in the suspected liquid for
twenty-four hours, to which we previously add a few drops of nitric acid.
The copper will be deposited on the iron. Or ammonia may be added to
the fluid in which the pickles or fruit were lying, when, if copper is
present, a blue tint is developed. We should be suspicious of all pickles,
olives, preserved gooseberries, etc., with a particularly bright-green tint.

Milk is usually believed to be liable to numerous adulterations, such
as flour, chalk, mashed brains, etc. It appears, however, from Dr.
Hassall's researches on London milk, that as a general rule, water is the
only adulteration. The results of the examinations of twenty-six samples
were that twelve were genuine, and that fourteen were adulterated, the
adulteration consisting principally in the addition of water, the
percentages of which varied from 10 to 50 per cent, or one-half water. If
space permitted we might extend the list of alimentary
substances liable to adulteration to a much greater length.

Beer is adulterated in many ways. Burned sugar (caramel) is added to give
color; cocculus, indicus to supply an intoxicating agent which will give
an appearance of strength to the beer; quassia, to impart bitterness in
place of hops; grains of paradise and cayenne pepper, to communicate
pungency; coriander and caraway seeds, to yield flavor; liquorice,
treacle, and honey to supply color and consistence. To stale beer there
is sometimes added green vitriol (sulphate of iron) or alum and common
salt, which when agitated with the beer communicate a fine cauliflower
head.

IV.

[Report of select parliamentary committee, 1855-1856,
upon inquiry into
the adulteration of food, from the Westminster Review, volume 91,
page 195.]

In the process of their investigations they examined some sixty
witnesses, who gave answers to near eight thousand questions, all of
them

tending more or less distinctly and directly to prove that the practice of
adulteration was very prevalent and most injurious in its effects upon
the health, morality, and prosperity of the country. Upward of thirty
of the witnesses were physicans, surgeons, analytical chemists, and
druggists, and the remainder were gentlemen who occupied responsible
positions in the fiscal and sanitary departments of government, of persons
acquainted with the manufacture and sale of the larger proportion of
such commodities as are in most general use.

* * * * * * *

Though the witnesses differed both as to the extent to which adulteration
is carried on and as to its nature and effects, your committee cannot
avoid the conclusion that adulteration widely prevails, though under
circumstances of very various character. As regards foreign products,
some arrive in this country in an adulterated condition, while others are
adulterated by the English dealer. Other commodities again, the produce
of this country, are shown to be in an adulterated state when passing
into the hands of the dealer, while others undergo adulteration by
the dealers themselves.

"Not only is the public health thus exposed to danger and pecuniary fraud
committed on the whole community, but the public morality is tainted and
the high commercial character of this country seriously lowered both at
home and in the eyes of foreign countries. Though very many refuse under
every temptation to falsify the quality of their wares, there are
unfortunately large numbers, who, though reluctantly practicing deception,
yield to the pernicious contagion of example or to the hard pressure of
competition forced upon them by their less scrupulous neighbors."

And then they proceed to give the following summary:

"Without entering into voluminous details of the evidence taken, your
committee would enumerate the many articles which have been proved to be
more or less commonly adulterated. These are: Arrowroot, adulterated with
potato and other starches; bread, with potatoes, plaster of Paris, alum,
and sulphate of copper; bottled fruits and vegetables, with certain salts
of copper; coffee, with chicory, roasted wheat, beans, and
mangel-wurzel; chicory, with roasted wheat, carrots, sawdust and Venetian
red; cocoa, with arrowroot, potato-flour, sugar, chicory, and some
ferriginous red earth; cayenne and ground rice, mustard, husk, etc.;
alcohol, with red lead; lard, with potato-flour, mutton suet, carbonate of
soda, and caustic lime; mustard, with wheat flour and turmeric;
marmalade, with apples and turnips; porter and stout (though sent out in
a pure state from the brewers), with water, sugar, treacle, salt, alum,
cocculus indicus, grains of paradise, nux vomica, and sulphuric acid;
pickles and preserves, with salts of copper; snuff, with various
chromatics, red lead, lime, and powdered glass; tobacco, with water, sugar,
rhubarb, and treacle; vinegar, with water, sugar, and sulphuric acid;
jalap, with powdered wood; opium, with poppy capsules, wheat-flour,
powdered wood, and sand; scammony, with wheat-flour, chalk, resin, and
sand; confectionery, with plaster of Paris and other similar ingredients,
colored with various pigments of a highly poisonous nature; and acid
drops purporting to be compounded of jargonelle, pear, ribston, pippin,
lemon, etc., with essential oils containing prussic acid and other
dangerous ingredients."

V.

[Extracts from English statutes bearing on the subject,
11th August,
1875.]

Whereas, it is desirable that the acts now in force relative to the
adulteration of food should be repealed and that the law requiring the
sale of food and drugs in a pure and genuine state should be amended:

Be it therefore enacted, etc. * * *

SEC. 2. The term "food" shall include every article used for food or
drink by man, other than drugs and water. The term "drugs" shall include
medicine for internal or external use.

SEC. 3. No person shall mix, color, stain, or powder, or order or permit
any other person to mix, color, stain, or powder, any article of food with
any ingredient or material so as to render the article injurious to
health, with intent that the same may be sold in that state; and no
person shall sell any such article so mixed, colored, stained, or
powdered, under a penalty in each ease not exceeding 50 for the first
offense; every offense after a conviction for a first offense shall be a
misdemeanor for which the person shall, on conviction, be
imprisoned for a period not exceeding six months, with hard labor.

SEC. 4. No person shall, except for the purpose of compounding, as
hereinafter described, mix, color, stain, or powder any drug with any
ingredient or material so as to affect injuriously the quality of such
drug with intent that the same may be sold in that State, and no person
shall sell any such drug so mixed, colored, strained, or powdered under
the same penalty in each case, respectively, as in the preceding section
for a first and subsequent offense.

* * * * * * *

SEC. 6. No person shall sell to the purchaser any article of food or
any drug which is not of the nature, substance, and quality of the article
demanded by such purchaser, under a penalty not exceeding £20, etc.

SEC. 7. No person shall sell any compounded article of food or compounded
drug, which is not composed of ingredients in accordance with the demands
of the purchaser, under a penalty not exceeding £20.
(Glen's Law of Public Health, 38 and 39 Victoria, chapter 63.)

You will thus see, Mr. Speaker, the estimation in which the
offense is held by our cousins across the water. It is meet that
the two great Anglo-Saxon nationalities should profit, each by
the teaching of the other. May not the younger profit by the
lesson here laid down by the elder?

I have letters, Mr. Speaker, from some of the leading
grocers and druggists of the country, offering to come on and
testify before a properly accredited committee at their own
expense, to give, cause, and adduce proof why like legislation is
imperatively demanded on Capitol Hill. Let them be heard for
our sake, if not for theirs.